Why the Supersoldier Serum is definitely not worth the trouble
by Far Away In Wonderland
Summary: "You don t look like a professional dealer," the man criticised, eyeing Mike up and down. "You don t look like anything professional at all." OR: The one where Mike Ross sells drugs to Tony Stark and somehow that ends up with him being kidnapped by HYDRA while watching a car race in Monaco.
1. Of Drugs and Geniuses

**AN:** So, this is my contribution for the Suits 100 challenge. My prompt was 'Suits/Marvel' and I really went overboard with the whole thing (/.\\) This is the first of three chapters, of which the first two are already finished and the last is still lacking 5k words at least. The whole thing has around 30k words.

If you expect timelines that match up or scientific accuracy, then you´re gonna be disappointed, because this fic has none of it. I made everything up so that it would work with my plot \\(^.^)/ also, English isn´t my native tongue; so there´s that...

* * *

 **Stark Manor, New York**

Tony didn't like the people around him.

Everywhere he looked, the usually silent Stark Manor was occupied by people, holding food in one hand and drinks in the other, talking animatedly and laughing too loud and too forced. On the right side of the garden three white tents stood in which the cooks his father had hired especially for this occasion prepared the countless delicacies those people were probably unable to afford otherwise. Tony couldn't take one step without any of the adults trying to talk to him _('He looks like his father!', 'My son´s six, too!', 'What toys do you like?')_.

But the adults weren't even the worst! No, on the left side of the garden was a big bouncy castle and within it so many children that it made Tony anxious just looking at them. They were laughing loudly, tussling with each other and generally seemed to have fun. Tony supposed that the bouncy castle wasn't that bad _('Stark men behave with dignity. I won´t have you make a fool of yourself.')_.

He didn't even know why his father had insisted on inviting several dozens of Stark Industries employees to an afternoon of festivities at Stark Manor. His father hated strangers being on the manor´s grounds. And it was already the third time that he had done it!

"Ah, Master Tony." Tony turned around to see Jarvis standing behind him, looking down on him with a small smile on his face. "Are you having fun?"

"Yeah," Tony lied. Jarvis frowned, obviously having caught on Tony´s lie.

"Well," he started. "One of the grills has broken down and we need a screwdriver to fix it. But, alas, there seems to be none around. Could you run to my rooms and get one?" Tony knew for a fact that Jarvis always had some tools in his jacket (how all these things fit into there was still a puzzle to him; he tipped on a pocket universe, but he had to run a few tests first), but he was too relieved that the butler had given him an out of this party for which his father couldn't even fault him for, so he just nodded enthusiastically.

"I´ll get you one!" he exclaimed and then he was already running towards the manor. He slowed down his steps when he walked through its doors _('Running is undignified. Stark men behave with dignity.')_. Thankfully, there was no one inside as his father had not gone so far as to allow any of the guests inside. The portrays of his ancestors bore down on him with their gazes (as far as Tony was aware it had been his father who had made SI the success it was today, so where these portrays had come from was another mystery that boggled his young mind), forcing some kind of invisible pressure on his shoulders. Tony always felt small and insignificant under the stares of all those men (and a few women), which is why he avoided the entrance hall as much as he could.

Jarvis private quarters were on the other side of the mansion, second floor, so Tony took the stairs and gleefully slid over the freshly waxed floor. He nearly fell over, though, when he heard voices talking.

"It´s such an honour to see this mansion from the inside," a voice Tony didn't recognise spoke.

"It´s nothing," another voice – _his father!_ – replied. Carefully, Tony edged closer to the corner from which the voices came.

"You have a son, James, don't you?" he heard his father asking. Tony frowned; usually his father could barely remember the names of the people he was working with and now he was asking after one of his worker´s families?

"I have, Mr Stark," another male voice answered. Tony dared to take a short glance around the corner: The two men were standing in front of Howard´s study; his father closer to the door, his arms folded as he regarded his counterpart with cool calculation. Tony knew that his father didn't really care – could see it in the way he impatiently tapped with his fingers against his forearm, in the barely noticeable downturn of his lips – but unlike Tony the other man didn't know his father´s tell and probably thought he really cared. The man – James, his father had called him – seemed to be of the same age as his fathers, but that was where the similarities already ended: His hair was blonde, his body built lither than his father´s and his blue eyes shone with warmth and kindness that were completely lacking in Howard´s.

"I´ve heard he´s got an eidetic memory," Howard commented offhand.

"Well," James replied, scratching the back of his head in confusion. "The doctors think so, but they don´t really know how it works. They say that he probably won´t remember his early childhood, like every child, because his mind wouldn't be able to take it all. But subconsciously; who knows?" He shrugged. "Hasn't your son got one, too?" Only the thinning of Howard´s lips showed the displeasure he felt when the topic fell on Tony. His father was always displeased when it came to him.

"It seems so," was all Howard said. "But let´s go back to the others. Our wives are probably already missing us." He let out a roaring laughter, which James reciprocated more nervously. Then he put his hand on the back of the other man and slowly steered him back towards the garden where the other guests were mingling.

Even though there was no chance that they would discover him, Tony ducked back into the shadows until he was sure that the two men had vanished around the corner. His father had an uncanny sense of always knowing where Tony was.

Certain that they wouldn't come back, Tony slipped out of his hiding place and continued on his way. He had a screwdriver to find, after all.

* * *

Pensively, Howard watched the children play on the bouncy castle he had the staff put up on the grass. They were screaming without restraints, running around and scuffling with each other – completely undignified, but what was to expect from such inferior stock? They had neither the genes, the education nor the money that made for human beings that actually brought society forward, but there was nothing which could change that. Besides, until some far away point in the future when machinery could take over the jobs, there was still manual labour to be done in this country.

He thanked God that his own son was nothing like these children. Of course, it had taken some encouragement and reinforcement, but Howard could already see the man his son was shaping up to be and it was one worthy to lead Stark Industries. Of course, he would never tell Tony that because compliments and flattery only made one weak. Stark mem weren´t weak.

One boy caught Howard´s gaze and he was reminded why he put up with this farce. A few weeks ago, after years of hard work and disappointment, he had finally managed to solve the riddle of Erskine´s Supersoldier Serum and managed to recreate the complete formula. There were no words that could describe the utter ecstasy, the joy and the pleasure that had surged through his whole body when he had finally managed to decipher the last equation; this feeling of standing on the top of the world and being able to conquer anything he set his eyes on.

But as fast as his high had come it had vanished again. As Howard had stared at the several blackboards covered with numbers, letters, equations and formulas, it had dawned on him that no one could be allowed to know what he had discovered, even – no, especially – SHIELD. Howard trusted few people in the organisation he had found – Peggy for once and that up-coming Lieutenant Fury – and he was certain that the moment someone in SHIELD knew, so would several governments around the world. The Supersoldier Serum was the holy grail of the scientific community and there were dozens of individuals and organisations that would stop at nothing to get their hands on it. No, as much as it galled Howard, until he could be sure of the circumstances, the formula needed to be kept secret. Yet, he neither trusted paper nor those new computing machines for the formula; both could be stolen, copied or simply read by others. He needed a way to back-up the formula without any chance of anyone ever finding it.

It was then that he remembered a talk between two of his assistants he had overheard. Howard wouldn't say that he liked James Ross, but the man knew how to be unobtrusive, to keep his mouth shut and do what Howard wanted him to do without questioning him and that were qualities that were seldom found in the people working with and around him. So, when he had listened to James telling another staff member that it seemed that his son possessed an eidetic memory, the idea had come to Howard.

He would use the boy. He had read up quite a bit about photographic memories when it became clear that Tony, too, possessed one and while its owners wouldn't consciously remember much of their early childhood, they still retained all those memories and could access them, with the necessary triggers, of course. Howard couldn't use Tony – that would be too obvious – but no one would expect Howard Stark to entrust his most important secret to a four-year-old toddler. No paper trails, nothing. And he was only needed as back-up, anyway, Howard could draw up the formula in his sleep by now, but it never hurt to be cautious.

That's why he started to have these SI employees retreats to his manor. It would throw off all the various spies that watched his every movement. He needed them to think that those were truly nothing but festivities to _'further the spirit of friendship and co-operation at Stark Industries'_. That´s why he had only invited the Ross' to the fourth party. By now, no one would suspect any plots afoot.

 _Ompf._ Howard looked down at the child that had run straight into him and was now looking up at him with its blue eyes wide open; a mixture of awe and fear in its gaze.

"Sorry, sir," the child mumbled. "Didn´t see you." Howard wanted to tell the child off, because if there was one thing he couldn't stand then it would be children that didn't know how to behave, but he knew that he had to be on his most charming behaviour for his plan to work so he put on his most convincing smile instead.

"Next time watch where you´re going," he told the child gently. The boy just nodded and looked at Howard as if he had imposed valuable pieces of wisdom upon him. "What´s your name?"

"Mike," the child answered. "My dad works for your company!"

"James Ross?" Howard inquired.

"Yes, that´s my daddy!" Mike exclaimed.

"Say, Mike," Howard began, kneeling down so that he was on the same height, lowering his voice as if he wanted to share a secret with the boy that nobody else should hear. "Do you want to see something special?"

 **Manhattan, New York, 16 years later**

Mike sighed as he looked at the pile of unopened bills that rested atop the table in Trevor's and his shabby little apartment. They didn't even bother with opening anymore, because they both knew that they couldn't pay even a single one. Usually they just paid each creditor enough so that they would continue having electricity, water and data for the month, but Mike couldn't remember the last time they had paid on time.

Looking around he noticed again how their lack of money showed: The wallpapers were yellow and tattered, stains of questionable origin and mould in the corners. The kitchen was battered and dirty, some stains in so deep that Mike hadn't been able to get rid of them even with concentrated bleach. Sometimes brown water creeped from the drain in the bathroom, the windows might as well stay open all the time considering how much cold they let seep through and the front door only closed at the second attempt – or third, depending on the temperature.

They were poor, Mike knew it, and yet there was another letter in his hand, another bill from the retirement home his grandmother lived in, back when they still had the money from selling her old house. But now the money was all used up and theoretically Mike would either need to move his grandmother in a cheaper facility or have her living with him in this dump. Neither was something Mike was willing to consider – his Grammy had friends at the home and excellent medical support which he couldn't take away and if she was to live here the mould would probably kill her. But in order for Mike to keep her at her current home, he needed money.

Delivering for Trevor would always be a possibility, Mike supposed. He didn't like it ever since he got into a close call with undercover police officers, but it paid better than most low-wage jobs. He let out another sigh. He put the bill down next to the others. His gaze was caught by the dying plant on the table: A single cannabis plant which Trevor had brought home with him a few days ago, as some kind of joke. Mike hadn't believed that the plant would last very long, having read the intensive care it required: Right amount of light, a certain temperature and exactly the right air moisture. And he had been proven right; the cannabis was already turning brown, its leaves hanging lifeless in the air.

"Hey, Mikey!" Mike looked up to see Trevor striding out of the bedroom. Their only one; they either slept in shifts or if they were really tired (or stoned) together. "What´s up?"

"The usual," Mike replied drily. "I need money for my grandmother´s care home or she gets evicted." Trevor winched in sympathy. He and Grammy may not see eye to eye on a lot of things (if Mike was honest, his grandmother downright hated Trevor), but his friend knew how much the older woman and her welfare meant to Mike, so he didn't mention it.

"I could help out, you know," he offered. "I have a few deals pending, you could help and make some money."

"Nah," Mike declined. "I´ll ask Frank if I can have some more shifts." Even as he told Trevor this, he knew that it wouldn't be enough. Even if Mike was to ride his bike twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, delivering packages and other stuff, he wouldn't make enough money to pay the bills. He had run the calculation through even as spoke and it had come up lacking. Trevor seemed to know that, for he sent Mike a sympathetic look but didn't pursue the matter any further. He knew Mike well enough to know that he needed to run out of any other possibilities before he would offer again and then Mike would be desperate enough to take him up on it.

"If you say so."

"I´m gonna get some sleep," Mike spoke, making his way towards the bedroom. Trevor didn't react and then Mike was already closing the door behind him. Not even bothering to get rid of his clothes, he just let himself fall on the bed and was out in seconds.

 _An empty hallway. Timber piling. Doors made of dark oak. Closed._

 _He was running. He didn't know what he was running away from, only that he needed to get away. He couldn't look back, because he instinctively knew that if he did whatever was following him would get him._

 _One door. Ajar._

 _There was a blackboard. It had no end, no beginning. Reaching from one end of his field of vision to the other._

 _Numbers. Letters. Formulas. Thousands of them. He could feel them burning into his retina. They were everywhere; unescapable. Swirling around in his mind. Building up to a furious crescendo. A thunderstorm with him right in the middle._

 _He looked back at the blackboard. It was blank._

 _Pain. His chest on fire. He looked down. A knife was sticking out of his chest._

 _Blood._

With an audible gasp, Mike bolted up, breathing heavily as the nightmare slowly receded and was replaced by reality. Small stripes of sunlight shone through the closed blinds, soaking the whole room in some kind of half-darkness. He could hear the TV from the other room, explosions and screams. Goosebumps were all over Mike´s skin and he shivered when the cold air of the room touched his sweat-soaked skin.

Sluggishly, Mike walked into the small adjacent bathroom and doused his face with cold water. The person in the mirror looking back at him looked haunted, his skin pale, his hair dishevelled and is wide and panicked eyes surrounded by dark rings. He looked like he had come straight out of some horror movie.

The nightmare was a reoccurring one. Mike didn't know when exactly it had started, but it appeared at least once a week and kept him from a restful sleep. He didn't know what it meant – had no drive to find out – but it never failed to make his heart beat like it wanted to break out of his ribcage; never failed to make him wake up screaming. His grandmother had wanted him to talk with a professional about it, but they never had the money and to be honest, Mike hadn't really wanted to unburden himself to some stranger, so he never complained.

Walking out of the bathroom, Mike snapped some paper and a pen from a nearby shelf and started writing. He had come to find out that putting the numbers on paper always helped him to calm down after the nightmare and ever since he had started this form of coping he could literally write the whole twenty pages thing in his sleep. He always destroyed it afterwards, even though he didn't know why. He just got this feeling, this nervousness, like thousands of ants were crawling under his skin until the pages went up in flames.

As he looked down on the finished papers, Mike wondered for the thousandth time what all those numbers and chemical formulas were even supposed to mean. He had researched, of course, but neither libraries nor the internet had been able to provide him with answers. So, as far as Mike was concerned all this was probably some weird coping mechanism his eidetic mind had come up with to deal with the shit show that was his life.

Sighing, Mike pulled a lighter out of the drawer and walked over to where the bin was standing. Holding the papers over the trash can, he set them aflame, thanking whoever deity was out there that their landlord was too stingy to actually install fire alarms in the apartments he owned. Burning his papers or smoking weed would have been much more difficult then.

"I´m off," Mike announced to Trevor as he closed the bedroom door behind him. Trevor, currently in the process of eating a whole carton of Captain Crunch without spoon or milk, just nodded and continued to watch TV.

"You think Frank´s gonna give you additional shifts?" he asked after swallowing down.

"I don´t know," Mike shrugged. "I hope so." Because, honestly? He would be totally fucked if Frank didn't.

"We´re totally gonna smoke up later," Trevor announced. "Either to celebrate you getting more money or to commiserate together."

"Wow, big words coming from you," Mike teased, taking his helmet from the counter. "At least three syllables."

"Fuck you!" Trevor shouted and threw a handful of cornflakes after him. Mike, though, had already closed the door behind him and so the projectiles just hit the door and landed on the ground. Spirits lifted by his friend, Mike practically bounced downstairs.

Frank just had to give him the additional shifts!

* * *

The constant downpour that set in a few hours later perfectly matched Mike´s mood as he trotted along the street. Frank had not given him the additional shift, citing that they had just enough workload for everyone and now Mike was back to square one. With more force than strictly necessary, he kicked an empty can out of his way. With loud bang, the tin crashed against the wall and rolled away, which earned Mike a scornful look from an elderly lady that passed him by.

"Uncouth youth," she mumbled. For a split second, Mike contemplated starting a fight, because he was just in the right mood to scream at someone, but his Grammy had raised him better than that, so he just drew a deep breath and continued his way.

He would need to take Trevor up on his offer, Mike thought miserably. There just was no other way for him to get the money necessary to keep his grandmother in her current retirement home. Not for the first time, Mike regretted the circumstances that had led him to being here, but he shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind, because he didn't want to examine his own faults.

Like always when Mike was in a bad mood, his thoughts turned to the formula in his mind. In all those years since it haunted his dream, he had more than once contemplated actually creating it, but he never had had the means to do so, for some of the stuff required wasn't legally available to the normal citizen. When Trevor had started with his side-business of drug distribution he had come into contact with people who could, even though there were some things that even they were unable to procure (like gamma rays). Nevertheless, Mike had never taken that particular step, because while he sometimes earned to finally see what this formula in his head was about, the risk had always stayed his hands.

Especially in dark moments, the call of the unknown was difficult to resist, though, and Mike couldn't remember the last time he had felt such hopelessness as he was feeling now _(when he had been expelled from college, but he squashed that thought as fast as it had come)_. That was how he found himself walking up the stairs in a run-down apartment building in Washington Heights after his last delivery had taken him up to Inwood, an area where he didn't find himself very often.

The door to apartment 32 was as unremarkable as the others in the building, and yet Mike found himself hesitating as he stood in front of it, unsure if he should really continue or just turn around and forget that all this had happened. The choice was taken from him, though, when the door was opened without his prodding.

"You´re that guy that Trevor lives with," the man on the other side of the threshold spoke. He was so thin that it looked like a soft breeze would knock him over, wearing only a grease-stained undershirt and baggy jeans. His pale blue eyes darted between Mike and the other doors on the hallway, as if he was expecting someone to observe them.

He certainly didn't look like a 'Bruce', Mike thought, the image of a buff Bruce Willis at the forefront of his mind.

"You´re Bruce, aren't you?" Mike asked. The man nodded, stepped aside and beckoned for Mike to enter. The apartment was rather clean and tidy, a stark contrast to the building and Bruce itself. The furniture was old but kempt, the wallpaper painted in a faint blue and a computer stood in the corner of the living room, the pause screen of Call of Duty on display.

"What can I do for you?" Bruce wanted to know from Mike.

"Trevor said you´re his go-to-guy for chemicals and stuff," Mike spoke.

"As long as it´s not on some government watch list I´ve got you," Bruce replied with a wide grin.

"Okay, because I need some stuff," Mike said and rattled off a list of chemicals he was sure a small-time criminal like Bruce would have.

"Well, that´s a pretty random order," the man commented after Mike was finished. "But I think I´ve got all of it. It´s gonna cost you, though." He named his price and Mike just shrugged. Trevor´s delivery jobs usually were rather lucrative (compared to Mike´s wage as bike messenger) so as of right now he could actually afford the price Bruce was naming.

"Pleasure doing business with you," the man drawled as he escorted Mike out of his apartment. Mike just nodded and then the door was already shut behind him.

* * *

Thankfully, the apartment was empty when Mike came back. He really didn't know what he would have told Trevor as reason for why he was carrying several bags filled with stuff with which he could probably built a bomb. Mike himself didn't quite know why he had done it.

He had often thought about trying to recreate the formula that haunted his dreams, but he had never put such a plan into action. There was a difference between looking up what all the symbols meant and actually buying the chemicals. It meant transferring something out of his mind into reality; taking responsibility for it and actually confront the thing that was in his mind. Fear, too, stayed his hand: What if it was some kind of poison or explosive? What if he seriously harmed or even killed someone? How could he take the risk, how could he put someone in danger for something his mind had dreamed up?

But Mike had already decided to help Trevor out, going from consuming weed every now and then to actually distributing it, so he might as well go down burning and dabble a little bit in chemistry. It wasn't as if this could get worse, anyway, was it?

With a sigh, Mike put the bags down and began to unpack them, putting all the packages on the table. Was he really doing this? Was he willing to risk whatever end result this little experiment of his would bring? On the surface, he may still have doubts, but Mike knew himself well enough to admit to himself that now that he had done the first step, sooner or later he would take the next. And did it really matter if he did it now or later.

"I guess I´ll just start," Mike spoke to the dying cannabis plant. It didn't answer.

Later, Mike wouldn't be able to recall exactly what he had done. It was like some sort of trance, his hands moving without his conscious order, the numbers and letters hovering in front of his eyes like holographs straight out of some sci-fiction movie. There was a numbness to his mind, a sluggishness in his thoughts as he poured, mixed and weighed. It was as if he had been pushed on the backseat of his own body while someone else did the work, forcing him into the position of a powerless spectator. Mike didn't know how long he sat there and worked, but when he came back to his senses and looked at the clock he noticed that nearly two hours had passed.

To say that Mike was disappointed with the result of his experiment would be an understatement. The clear liquid appearing utterly unremarkable, behaving and looking like water. Mike didn't know what he had expected – he had tried to recreate an unknown substance after all – but maybe a little more – he didn't really know – colour, maybe? Or steam? Ominous hissing sounds? Just something that would show that he hadn't just recreated water.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, Mike let himself fall back into his chair and stared at the ceiling. 200 Dollars totally thrown out of the window. Why couldn't he just discovered a new wonder drug which he could sell and make millions, so that he could pay for his Grammy´s care and maybe by himself a nice apartment and no need for a shitty job ever in his life again.

But, alas, whatever he had created didn't look like much and Mike wasn't stupid enough to consume a chemical substance he knew nothing about. So, with one last look, he took the glass and poured its content over the cannabis. You couldn't kill something twice, after all.

Trevor wouldn't come back for a few hours at least, so Mike still had time to catch some sleep. Standing up, he walked over to the bedroom, closing the door behind him and letting himself fall on the soft mattress.

Meanwhile, in the room next door, the leaves of a dying plant turned green again.

* * *

It was Trevor´s shouting that tore Mike out of his sleep.

"Holy fucking shit!" The shout tore through the dream Mike was having (he didn't remember what he had been dreaming about, but for once it hadn't been about the formula) like a scissor through paper and had Mike bolt upright like a startled cat. Jumping out of the bed, Mike nearly fell over the covers which had wrapped themselves around his legs and only his fast reaction prevented Mike from landing face-first on the floor. Steadying himself, Mike took in a deep breath and then walked through the doorway into the living room where Trevor was having some kind of freak out.

"Why are you screaming like a little girl?" Mike teased his best friend.

"There´s nothing wrong with screaming like a girl, because there´s nothing wrong with _being_ a girl," Trevor replied, sending an annoyed glare. "Don´t buy into the patriarchy´s urge to demean women in order to assert an unjust and unequal society, Mike, just don´t!" Mike rolled his eyes.

"You only went into that Gender Studies class because you thought you´d be the only man there and could have all the girls," Mike reminded him.

"And I was wrong," Trevor retorted in all seriousness. "It opened my eyes."

"Putting aside the issue as to whether your scream was manly or girly – none of which are inherently lesser than the other –" he added when he saw Trevor open his mouth "– you still haven't told my why you woke me up with your screaming."

"Because there´s a monster plant sitting on our table," Trevor replied and pointed towards aforementioned table. Stepping around Trevor, Mike was now able to see what had Trevor shout out so loud in excitement and he had to admit that Trevor had every reason to.

Their dead weed had been resurrected.

Or, to phrase it a little bit better: It had levelled up. The sickly cannabis plant that had barely reached twenty centimetres in height now stood proudly at sixty, its leaves in a green so deeply saturated that it looked like some Instagram hipster had put their filter on it. Pieces of the ceramic pot were strewn all over the floor, because from the look of it, it appeared as if the roots had blown it up from within. Speckles of dark soil were all over the table and Mike groaned inwardly because he just knew that he would be the person to clean this mess up.

"What the fuck did you do, man?" Trevor asked Mike, unable to tear his gaze from the plant in front of him.

"Why is it suddenly my fault?" Mike replied defensively. Trevor turned his gaze towards him and arched his eyebrows.

"The plant was brown and dying when I left here yesterday and now I come back to this –" he pointed at the cannabis plant " – so it´s pretty clear to me that you did something. Now tell me what?" Trevor looked like he was about to bounce in excitement, a pretty terrifying prospect to be sure.

"I may or may not have dabbled a little bit in chemistry?" Mike replied hesitantly, more a question than an actual statement. Trevor´s eyebrows nearly vanished under his hairline.

"You dabbled in chemistry?" he repeated incredulously. "What did you do, invent some Super Weed Formula?" He laughed out loud.

"Apparently I did." Mike scratched the back of his head in confusion.

"That´s awesome!" Trevor exclaimed, brimming with energy like a over-excited puppy. "We´re gonna make so much money out of this."

"Wait, what?" Mike interrupted perplexed.

"Come on, Mike," Trevor groaned. "That´s at least five-hundred bucks we´ve got standing there. I could totally get us some more plants."

"We can´t just start our own drug business," Mike hissed. "We´re gonna get killed by someone."

"Dude, chill," Trevor chided him. "It´s just a little bit of weed on the side, not the hard stuff. Besides, I now the crowd around here and they don´t kill someone over this. As long as we keep it small, we´re in the clear." Mike wasn't convinced. Of course, the sweet siren call of the money tugged at his heart, but he knew enough – had read enough newspapers, had seen enough newscasts – to know that dealing wasn't a profession with high rates of lifelong success. He wanted to get money for his grandmother, not get killed for playing on someone else´s turf. He just couldn't risk it.

"Mike, come on," Trevor continued. "Let´s think this through. Let´s say we don't take this opportunity. Then what? You´d still have to pay for your grandmother´s care and even if you manage to scrap together enough money to pay the bill for this month, you´d have to pay the same amount again and again and again, for hopefully many years." He shook his head. "We barely meet ends with what we have now, how do you want to get additional money legally? You´d need a degree for jobs that pay well enough for that." Mike wanted to snap at Trevor that he would have a degree by now if he hadn't sold the maths test to the Dean´s daughter back then in college, but he bit back the retort, because while it may have been Trevor´s fault, it had been Mike´s decision to take the fall for it. They shared the blame for their current situation.

"I´ll keep everyone safe," Trevor promised and when Mike looked into his best friend´s eyes he saw nothing but sincerity staring back. He didn't want to agree, didn't want to open his mouth and say yes, because as the saying goes the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, but he knew that Trevor was right: He didn't have a choice.

"Alright," Mike croaked out. "Let´s do this."

* * *

The actual procedure of fabricating saleable weed wasn't that difficult. Harvesting the leaves of the cannabis plant, drying them and then grinding them took them three days most of which they didn't have to actually do something. Every now and then Mike would ask himself if what he was doing was really what he should do or if he should just break the whole thing off, but then the growing pile of mostly unopened bills would catch his gaze and only darken his mood even more. Trevor, meanwhile, was living on cloud nine, smiling broadly and laughing all the time. Sometimes Mike could just imagine the Dollar signs in his friend´s eyes.

"We need a name," he mentioned offhandedly. "For the weed," he added when he saw Mike´s confused stare.

"Greed," Mike replied after a short moment of contemplation. "Because of its colour."

On the fourth day, Trevor went out with the finished product to sell it to a few clients and 'friends' of his, all the while Mike was delivering packages in Manhattan, a foreboding feeling having settled over him and his stomach feeling as if it was filled with stones. Every second he awaited a heavy hand landing on his shoulders and the words 'Mike Ross, you're under arrest for distribution of illegal substances' spoken in an authoritative voice or even worse some thugs dragging him into an abandoned side street to beat him up as warning, but neither of those two things happened. And when Mike came home that evening, he was greeted by an enthusiastic Trevor who told him that they made even more money than they had anticipated.

"Eight-hundred bucks!" Trevor told him and showed him the bag full of Dollar bills. "If we keep this up, we´ll have the money for your grandmother just in time." Mike really didn't know what to say, his bouts of qualms he had had over the last few days suddenly looking much less serious now that the money was spread over their kitchen table.

"Listen, Mike," Trevor began, putting his hand on Mike´s back. "You have to take over for me."

"Wait, what!?" Mike exclaimed, turning around to face Trevor. "You want me to sell the stuff?"

"I can´t do it," Trevor apologised. "I´m already affiliated. If I started selling my own stuff on the side I´m gonna get in trouble."

"You told me that there was no risk!" Mike hissed.

"And it was the truth!" Trevor defended himself. "There´s no risk for _you_. As long as you´re the one selling and we don´t overdo it, we´ll be left alone." Apparently, Mike didn't look completely convinced, so he added: "Come on, we need the money." And wasn't the crux of the matter? Mike could drag his feet has much as he wanted, but in the end financial necessity would force him to continue walk the path he had started.

"Alright," Mike finally relented. "But the moment this gets dangerous, I´m out."

"Don´t worry," Trevor assured him. "It won´t."

* * *

Selling drugs wasn't what Mike had expected it to be. He had delivered for Trevor a few times in the past, but that was after the whole buying process had already happened. Actually, selling it mainly meant standing around on the street, trying to look unsuspicious and waiting for skittish college students or stressed-out looking business men to hand you over some bills before giving them a small plastic bag with the weed in return. Every few hours Mike would walk a little bit so that no one would report him to the police for loitering.

All in all, it certainly wasn't as exciting or dangerous as Mike had thought it would be. Which, to be honest, was totally fine with him, because Mike certainly didn't need the stress. Between his shifts as bike messenger for Frank and standing around on the streets and selling weed he got maybe six hours of sleep if he was lucky.

At least, the money he brought home compensated for all the hours of missed sleep. Slowly but surely, they were beginning to pay back all the bills that had accumulated over the last few months, albeit it was at a snail´s pace. Nevertheless, it was progress.

Mike didn't know where Trevor got all the cannabis plants from, though. When he had asked, his friend had told him that apparently nearly a third of each load didn't make it to the finished product and his bosses were happy to load it off to Trevor instead of getting rid of it themselves as it lessened the chance of them getting caught by the police.

By now Mike was a real professional in creating his Super Weed Formula (as Trevor had coined it): He got the chemicals from Trevor´s friend Bruce who by now was giving him a good discount because Mike bought from him so often, which would last for a few days. Mike was experimenting with the exact amount he gave the plants, observing if the plants with more serum made the better product or if it didn't matter at all. Sometimes Mike wondered how much more potent the serum would be if he had access to all of the equipment and chemicals the formula required.

Trevor didn't care much about Mike´s chemical activities; as long as Mike produced enough of the liquid to keep their small business going he didn't care. Mike was somehow glad about it; he didn't know why, but the prospect of Trevor knowing his formula made him feel uneasy. Maybe because deep down Mike knew how unprincipled Trevor was when it came to money.

With each passing day, their customer base grew bigger. Apparently, word of mouth was that Greed gave you the longest and most intense trip out there, but as of yet their customers hadn't reached the critical mass where they would have to worry about other players taking an interest in them. Because Mike sure as hell didn't know what he would do then.

The moment that in hindsight would put Mike´s life on a completely different trajectory occurred one month into his stint as small-time drug dealer. At first glance, the man looked like Mike´s typical business man clientele, and yet Mike had this feeling at the back of his mind that he wasn't.

"You don´t look like a professional dealer," the man criticised, eyeing Mike up and down. "You don´t look like anything professional at all."

"I´m selling illegal drugs here," Mike pointed out. "Do you really think I´d come here in, what, a three-piece suit and skinny tie?"

"I guess you wouldn't," the man agreed. ""Skinny ties are awesome, though, you´d totally rock them, if you weren´t, y'know, selling drugs." A short pause, then: "I´ve heard you´ve got the best stuff. Everyone can claim that."

"Why are you here then?" Mike challenged him. "I´m sure someone from the staff in whatever fancy hotel you´re staying in would gladly get you everything you want."

"I´m bored," the man shrugged. "And my former PA is hounding me to find a replacement for her, so I ran." Mike didn't prod any further, because he was here to sell weed, not to ask for some stranger´s life story. "So, how much the gram?"

"50 bucks," Mike told him. The man just shrugged and handed Mike over two hundred-Dollar bills. "I take four." Mike handed him the plastic bag containing the marihuana and took the money, moving fast to stash it away in his jacket before anyone could see it.

"Have fun," Mike told the man drily.

"I sure as hell will!" the man waved and then he was already around the corner. Mike smiled; that man had definitely been weird, but in a positive kind of way. Soon, though, the encounter was already at the back of his mind as the next customer demanded his attention.

* * *

Mike wouldn't have spent any further thought on the energetic man if he hadn't come back a few weeks later.

"Dude!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms and grinning as if Mike was a long-lost relative and not the guy who had sold him weed once. "My dude, my bro, my dudebro." Mike raised his eyebrows at the man´s exuberance.

"The stuff you sold me last time," the man began to tell him, "totally blew my mind. Like, literally; I designed a whole new line-up of smart kitchen appliances. The toaster can speak and I think the stirring staff is also a sex toy. I don´t remember a single fucking thing." He grinned. "It was awesome!"

"Also awesome," the man added, "you didn't rat me out to the paparazzi."

"Why should I?" Mike frowned. He looked at the man: Expensive suit, a watch that was probably worth more than Mike´s life, goatee and red-tinted shades over which the man stared at Mike expectantly.

The revelation hit Mike like a lightning strike.

"Oh my fucking God!" he exclaimed, and because the man was shushing him, he continued muted: "You´re Tony Stark!"

"You didn't recognise me the last time," Stark pointed out.

"I was selling drugs to you," Mike defended himself. "It´s more stressful than it looks."

"Stress ages you," Stark imparted on him. "Same as last time." He handed over the money while Mike gave him the small plastic bag with the weed.

"And," Stark added, already about to leave. "If you sell me out to the paparazzi, I´m gonna destroy you." The collegial atmosphere that usually surrounded him had suddenly vanished and was replaced by a sharp coldness that cut Mike to the bones. He swallowed and nodded. He totally believed that Stark was willing and able to destroy a meagre existence just as his.

"Glad that we understand each other."

* * *

Two days later, Stark was back again.

"Why are you still in New York?" Mike asked as he handed Stark his usual order. "By the way, I´m having a serious crisis of conscience here with how often you buy stuff from me."

"Don´t be," Stark replied nonchalantly. "I was much worse before I became Iron Man. I can cope with some harmless weed. And I´m still here because the conference Pepper has forced me to attend lasts the whole week." He let out a long-suffering sigh. "And the board is hounding me again."

"Can´t you just…" Mike began, "you know, tell them to stuff it and do whatever the hell you want? I mean, after Obadiah Stane´s death you now own the majority share of Stark Industries." He noticed that Stark flinched at the mention of Stane´s name, but it only lasted a split-second before he had his face back under control.

"They have special clauses in their contracts," Stark admitted. "I can´t get rid of them."

"That sucks," Mike remarked. Stark just snorted. "Anyway, I wish you all the fun on your conference. I bet it´ll be a blast!" The withering glare Stark sent him was well worth it.

"You said 'Tony Stark'." Stark´s voice suddenly ringing out beside him made Mike jump and nearly had him fall over his own feet if he hadn't regained his balance just in time.

"Jesus Christ!" he cursed. "Wear a bell or something." He paused, processing what Stark had said. "Of course, I called you that; it´s your name, isn´t it?"

"Yeah," Stark replied. "But usually when people met me the first time it´s 'Oh my God, Iron Man!' this and 'Iron Man!' that. I can´t remember the last time someone used my name."

"You´ve been Tony Stark long before you became Iron Man," Mike pointed out. "And in my person opinion, your earlier achievements are nothing to scoff at. Your thesis about artificial intelligence was a work of beauty." It was sad to see that Stark had apparently become used to people only seeing him for the red and golden armour and not his impressive intellect which was only equalled by a few people on Earth.

"You´ve read my thesis?" Stark asked astonished. "I don´t even think that my own professor understood it."

"Well, I didn't understand it instantly," Mike admitted a little bit embarrassed. "I had to read up on several coding languages, some physics and machine learning, but after that it was manageable." He scratched the back of his head. "But yeah, I mean you being Iron Man is awesome, but that shouldn't negate everything else you succeeded in." An undecipherable expression flashed over Stark´s face before it settled again on his usual bright grin.

"Have you ever thought about doing motivation speeches?" he asked.

"Doesn´t pay as well as petty crime," Mike shot back. "How´s your conference?" Stark huffed in annoyance.

"Terrible," he complained. "Put a few dozen people who all think they´re the smartest in one room and you practically have the receipt for childish barbs and hurt vanity."

"How terrible," Mike replied sarcastically.

"I know, right?!" Stark exclaimed, either missing or (what was more likely) ignoring the obvious sarcasm in Mike´s voice.

"So, can I get you something?" Mike asked.

"Nah, not this time," Stark replied. "Actually, this time it´s me who comes bearing stuff." Mike arched his eyebrows at the eccentric billionaire.

"I looked you up, you know," Stark began, "Mike Ross, twenty-seven years old, parents deceased, IQ off the charts, expelled from college for selling a Maths test to the Dean´s daughter, behind on nearly all of your bills, even though you´ve started paying them over the last few weeks – that´s when you started selling weed, isn't it? – eidetic memory and now wasting your life as bike messenger. You also sat the LSATs at least ten times in the last three years."

"What´s it to you?" Mike demanded to know, suddenly on edge.

"Nothing," Stark admitted. He rummaged through his bag and handed Mike a thick envelope. "That´s the contract of one of the board members. He´s blocking all my attempts at positioning SI in the renewable energy sector and I want him gone. Sadly, my whole legal department seems to consist of fools, because they haven't yet found something." Blindsided by Stark´s flood of words, Mike automatically took the envelope when Stark handed them over to him.

"Wait, wait, wait," Mike interjected. "Aren´t you breaking, like, several of your firm´s by-laws by giving this to me? I know that you´re breaking exactly thirteen _actual_ laws. And what makes you think I´ll manage to find something when your own lawyers didn't?"

"Mike, when you´re as rich as me something insignificant as some privacy laws don´t stop you from doing whatever you want," Stark told him as if he was discussing the weather. "And I know that you wanted to go to Harvard, I´ve read your motivation letter – very heartfelt by the way, tugging on all the right heartstrings – so even if you don't find anything I won´t lose much, while you have double the motivation to find something my own lawyers have because they get paid anyway while you have the chance to impress me. Besides, I like you."

"Usually people don´t jump from liking their drug dealer to handing them confidential contracts," Mike pointed out drily.

"I wouldn't be where I am today if I hadn't taken some leaps of faith," Stark told him. "The first time I met Pepper was when she threatened to use her pepper spray on my security detail because she wanted to bring an accounting mistake to my attention, so getting help from my drug dealer wouldn't be the most unusual thing I´ve ever done." And maybe that was why Mike didn't argue any further: Because someone believed that he could do more than just being a bike messenger or selling some weed; maybe because someone appreciated him for the intellect he hadn't had any chance to properly exercise in what felt like since forever.

* * *

Back at his apartment, he instantly discarded his jacket and shoes, sat himself down at the table and pulled out the batch of paper. Reverently he let his hand roam over the paper; this was what Mike had always wanted to do: Finding the hidden inconsistencies, the small mistakes, chasing words and wrangling with paragraphs, duelling with the mind instead of fists. He may never have the chance to do in a real court, but this was better than nothing.

Text marker cap in his mouth and the actual marker in his hand, Mike began reading over the contract.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Section three, paragraph six, clause twenty, sub-clause C," Mike told Stark the next day. Stark crooked his head.

"I looked the guy up and there are at least two instances where he´s in breach of it," Mike explained and handed Stark the paper where he had marked his findings. Stark himself read over what Mike had discovered and when he looked up he looked like the cat that got the canary.

"I´m finally getting rid of him," he crooned.

"I also found some spelling mistakes," Mike added. "I´ve corrected them and…" He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Stark´s intense gaze that was directed at him. There was a short moment of awkward silence between them, which was then broken by the billionaire.

"Tell me, Mike," Stark asked. "What do you think about getting a new job?"

* * *

The New York branch of Stark Industries was situated in Lower Manhattan in the upper floors of a high-rise skyscraper. The only thing indicating that it even existed where the nearly three meters high letters that stood on the plaza that lead up to the buildings entrance, forming the word 'STARK' in bright yellow colour. Mike had driven by a few times when he had to deliver packages to the banks in near Wall Street, but he had never actually been in there. Stark Industries didn't use bike messengers and even if they did, it wouldn't be Frank's Bike Messenger Service.

Mike didn't really feel like he belonged here: The people that passed him by were all dressed to the nines: the mean wearing bespoken suits (often three-pieces), expensive watches and brand sunglasses while the women donned colourful costumes, were adorned with expensive jewellery and wearing shoes that more often than not looked like a mix between lethal weapon and designer wear. Mike, in his washed-out jeans, blue Henley and messenger bag slung over his back was the odd one out and the longer he stood there and delayed actually going inside, the more obvious it became.

He didn't really know why he had taken Stark up on his offer.

" _Are you serious?" Mike demanded to know after Stark had given his offer. "Why would you offer me a job? I´m the guy who sells you weed! I´m not qualified enough to do anything in your company." Stark just shrugged._

" _You´re compassionate, you can keep a secret and you´re intelligent," Stark listed. "I don't care if you can back it up with a degree or not. Hell, a fourth of the people working in research don't have one but I employ them anyway because they have good ideas. Besides, I know people – I can read them – and everything points towards you not being duplicitous." Mike looked at Stark, completely dumbfounded._

" _And I had you researched thoroughly," Stark added. "I hope you know that your browser´s private mode isn't really that private? You´ve looked up some kinky shit; not that I´m judging." He waggled his eyebrows while Mike could feel the heat rise to his cheeks._

" _Look, you don't have to accept right away," Stark continued. "If you´re interested just come to the local SI branch. I´m there the whole week if Pepper doesn't manage to get me to that stupid conference."_

And now Mike was standing here, unable to move, his feet feeling like clay. He didn't know why he just couldn't move forward: Maybe it was because it would be a complete break with his old life, with his usual behaviour patterns and he couldn't just bring himself to abandon that just yet. Or maybe because he was afraid that it was just a prank Stark pulled on him and that the people in there would just laugh him out of the foyer when he told them that Tony Stark personally had told him to come here. Stark didn't seem to be the type of person who was needlessly cruel, Mike had to admit, though.

"Excuse me?" At first, Mike didn't even register that the words were directed at him, but then someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and saw a security guard standing next to him, the SI logo prominently displayed on his chest and arms. Fear gripped Mike.

"Mr. Stark wants to know if you plan to enter in the next five minutes," the man told Mike whose jaw just dropped. His head darted around, searching for cameras or maybe even the man himself. But there was nothing that would indicate that Stark was observing him.

"He´s like that," the guard smiled when he noticed Mike´s panic. "He loves to throw people off."

"So, what should I tell him?" he asked.

"Guess there´s no reason to dither any longer," Mike shrugged. "Lead the way."

As they made their way through the foyer Mike contemplated that before he would have never made it even through the doors before some security guards would have escorted him out again: The floor was covered in white and red marble on which the steps of dozens of people reverberated; the receptionists' desk was a massive bloc made of stainless steel, polished to such a degree that it could also be used as mirror. The receptionists sitting behind it were all wearing prim and proper uniforms with an air of importance hanging around them.

Luckily, Mike was accompanied by the guard, so he didn't have to bother with the receptionists that probably would have just sniffed at him disdainfully. He knew their type from quite a few trips as bike messenger. They made a b-line straight towards the elevators where the guard pushed the button for the fifty-second floor and then stepped off.

"Have fun with the boss!" he winked and then the door was already closing.

The whole ride upwards Mike fidgeted nervously with his fingers, his gaze glued to the electronic display which numbers rose and rose until a loud ping notified him that he had reached his floor. Stepping off, Mike expected a normal office with non-descript cubicles, the clacking of keyboards in the air and stressed workers shuffling around but the room he entered was a wide and open living room space with a kitchen in the corner and a big entertainment system on the wall of the left. The red couch in the middle of the room was bigger than Mike´s complete apartment and probably worth much more.

"Do you like it?" Stark was standing in one of the doorways, making a hand gesture that encompassed the whole room. "My philosophy is that my employees should have space where they can relax and aren't reminded of work the whole time."

"I doubt that Mario Kart is really conducive with a stress-free working environment," Mike quipped.

"There´s nothing more cathartic than destroying your opponent with a blue bomb right before they´re about to finish the race," Stark pointed out. "So, you have decided to take me up on my offer?"

"I´ve decided to listen to what you have to say," Mike corrected the billionaire.

"Better than nothing, I guess," Stark remarked. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a loud scream that resounded throughout the whole premises.

"TONY!" Stark winced while Mike stared at him like a deer caught in the headlight. You could hear the clack of high-hells on the floor before a woman rounded the corner with an expression that was equally exasperation and fury on her face. Until now Mike hadn't known that you could walk this fast in heels and skin-tight pencil skirt while also looking imposing, but the woman somehow made it work.

"Pepper, dearest!" Stark exclaimed, trying to placate the woman but going by the still thunderous expression on her face obviously failing. So that was the formidable Ms Pepper Potts who was leading the company while Stark developed new, amazing stuff, Mike thought. "You look especially dashing today."

"Don´t 'Dear Pepper' me!" Potts snapped at the man. "You fired Peterson today."

"I did," Stark admitted unabashed.

"You can´t," Potts retorted. "His contract is airtight; our whole legal time couldn't find anything."

"Pepper, meet Mike Ross, the guy who found me the clause I used to get rid of the old fart," Stark proclaimed and waved towards Mike. For the first time, Potts seemed to actually take notice of Mike. With a smile that was too bright and too fast to be natural she turned towards him, making Mike feel like a defenceless bird in front of a cheetah.

"Thank you so much for your service," Potts told him. Turning back towards Tony she added: "So, you want him for legal?"

"No," Stark replied, making Mike´s heart drop. "I want him as my PA."

"What?!" Mike and Potts shouted simultaneously at Stark who looked completely undazzled by their outburst.

"Look, Pepper," Stark told his business partner. "He´s got a genius level IQ, an eidetic memory and he knows how to keep a secret." And then with mischief in his eyes he added: "Besides, he sold me the best weed I´ve ever had." Instead of another outburst, like Mike expected, Potts just closed her eyes, pinched her nose and took a deep breath. Then she squared her shoulders and filled with new resort she took Stark by the ear and pulled him towards the hallway.

"Excuse us for a moment, Mr Ross," she said to Mike in the politest tone he had ever heard.

"Ow, ow, ow, Pepper…" Stark whined, then they seemed to have entered another room for Mike heard the clicking of a door and then their voices fell silent. Mike, meanwhile, was left behind completely dumbfounded. When he had come here, having decided to listen to Stark´s offer, he had expected a job offer in the support staff, like in the mail room, reception or maybe as some assistant. There was also the small hope that maybe it would be an offer to work in the legal department of SI, even though Mike knew that he couldn't practise law. But maybe research or something. But with his offer to become his personal assistant, Stark had completely blindsided him. Mike was glad that Ms Potts had dragged Stark out of the room, because it allowed him to piece together his shattered composure. He really didn't know what if answer to Stark´s job offer should be.

Before Mike could think further, though, he heard the door opening again and a few seconds later Potts and Stark came back into the room. The woman´s gaze instantly bore down on Mike, making him gulp.

"Tony told me he met you when he bought drugs from you," Potts spoke as if she was just commenting on the weather.

"Yes," Mike replied, barely able to supress the 'Mam' he wanted to add. He had a healthy respect for powerful and intelligent women.

"Also, that you didn't sell him out to the newspapers, even though the Daily Bugle offered two thousand Dollars for a picture of Tony," she continued.

"Yes," Mike answered again.

"And that you found a mistake in our board contracts in one night that our whole team of specialised lawyers weren´t able to find in weeks," she finished.

"Yes."

"You told me I should get a PA because you had better things to do than bring me my coffee and I want him," Stark chipped in.

"Do I have any say in this?!" Mike exclaimed. Both, Potts and Stark looked at him, the former even looking a little bit contrite for discussing Mike as if he wasn't even there. Turning towards Stark, he continued: "I´m very grateful for your offer, but I fear I have to decline. My grandmother lives here in New York and I can´t just leave her to go to Malibu."

Stark opened his mouth to say something, but Potts was faster: "While Tony can be a little bit…unconventional when it comes to, well, everything really, I think you should think about his offer. Maybe talk to your grandmother about it." She smiled at him and this time it wasn't fake. "I, too, was apprehensive to leave my family behind for working for Tony, but my mother practically pushed me out of the house."

"I´ll think about it," Mike promised, even though he was absolutely sure that his answer wouldn't change.

"That´s all we can ask," Potts agreed.

"Half of the time I´m in New York, anyway," Stark added, but when under Pott´s glare he shrunk and added: "But of course, you should totally talk with your grandmother about it."

* * *

The retirement home his grandmother lived in was in southern Brooklyn, meaning that the ride on the subway took nearly an hour. Mike spent the time observing the people that hopped on and off the train, trying to guess their life stories. There was a business man who would never hold eye contact and who was constantly chewing on his lip. Probably on his way to his extramarital affair. A pregnant woman who looked like she was about to throw up, her face a sickly shade of green. She either was really ill or on her way to tell her parents that they were about to become grandparents. It was fun – at least for Mike – and it made the train ride pass by faster.

The building his grandmother´s care facility was in had been the mansion of a steel baron in the 19th century, but only the main building was still standing while the rest of the complex was rather new with a considerable amount of rooms added. Determined, Mike walked through the lobby, already knowing the way to his grandmother´s room on the first floor by heart. He nodded and smiled at the people that passed him by, receiving polite nods from the staff and unadulterated smiles of joy from the elder people. It was one of the reasons why his grandmother had chosen this facility: The obvious happiness and carefreeness that hung in the air. You didn't have the feeling that you were walking into a building where families had deported their annoying elderly relatives – the last stopover before death – but that you were part of an active community and it reminded Mike again that he needed to do everything in his power to allow his grandmother to stay here.

When Mike reached his grandmother´s room, he knocked and immediately opened the door, as he usually did when he visited her. Grammy was sitting in one of her padded chairs from which she could overlook the whole courtyard through her window. When Mike entered the room, she turned away from whatever going-ons she was observing and looked at Mike, a huge smile appearing on her face.

"Mike," she exclaimed overjoyed, slowly lifting herself up from her sitting position. "I didn't expect you to visit me. I´d have bought cake otherwise." She hugged Mike; a gesture he reciprocated with equal ferocity.

"It was a spur of the moment decision," Mike admitted as he sat down in the chair opposite of his grandmother.

"Anything new?" he asked.

"Well, nothing changed since you´ve been here three days ago," Grammy answered with a pointed look at Mike. "I´m still trying to find out if Andrew´s gay or not." Mike groaned and hid his face in his hands. Andrew was an – admittedly very, very attractive – nurse on his grandmother´s floor and ever since she had moved into her room, she would try to find out if he was attracted to men so that she could set him up with Mike. Mike was pretty sure that Andrew knew what was going on and thus kept all of his answers vague on purpose, which made it even worse, because Mike was a gown ass man and if he wanted to get laid he could manage it without his grandmother.

"When are you gonna give up that ridiculous quest of yours?" Mike asked exasperated.

"Never," Grammy replied with a wide smile on her face.

"So," she continued. "When will you tell me the real reason why you´re here?" Mike opened his mouth to reply something, but his grandmother just held up her hand to silence him and continued speaking. "I know you, Mike, and there´s definitely something you´re trying to put off by distracting me with idle gossip."

"Have you ever thought about becoming a lawyer?" Mike joked weakly. His grandmother just sent him a pointed look which made Mike straighten up in his seat.

"I´ve received a job offer," Mike finally admitted.

"Oh, Mike, that´s great!" his grandmother exclaimed.

"In Malibu," Mike added, not daring to look his Grammy in the eyes, instead choosing to look out of the window at the scenery outside. He turned his face back to his grandmother when he felt her hand laying atop of his.

"I think you should tell me the whole story," she said quietly. And Mike did: He told her of how Trevor and he started developing and selling weed (Grammy pursed her lips in barely concealed disappointment), how it led to Mike meeting Tony Stark (her eyes widened at that) and how the same man had offered him a job after only a short time knowing it.

"I´d spent the most time working on the West Coast," Mike told his grandmother. "He said, he´d be in New York quite often, but I don't how he defines 'often' and I really don't want you to be alone." He paused for a moment. "I don't want you to be that cliché of the grandmother left behind by her relatives who sought greener pastures."

"Please Mike, give it a rest." His grandmother rolled her eyes at him. "You´re an important part of my life, never doubt that, but I also have a life outside of you. I have friends here and hobbies, how do else do you think I spent my time between your visits?

But more important," she continued. "I want you to do something worthwhile with your life. I don't want you to stay here in this city if it means you have to rot away in some dingy apartment, keeping yourself afloat with minimum-wage jobs, barely scraping by. I want you to advance, to do something you´re passionate about and working for Tony Stark will open you so many doors that you would have never known even existed. I´m may be many things, Mike, but I´m not so selfish that I´d keep you here when you could move out into the world to become something more."

Mike wanted to say something, but it was as if all of his words had been taken from his mind. Because deep down Mike wanted to accept Stark´s offer because it offered him a way out of the dead end his life had turned into; because it offered him the chance to become a man his parents and grandmother could be proud of. He was no fool, he knew that his Grammy disapproved of Trevor and the way he chose to spend his life after he had been expelled from College, but he had been too apathetic to change, too content in wallowing in his self-pity and too afraid to lose Trevor after everything he had already lost (his parents, his future, his prospects). But now there was the chance to change all this. But Mike wouldn't have taken it, if his grandmother had been against it, if she had wanted him to stay with and take care of her.

Hearing her approve of this opportunity, having her actually encouraging his life choices after such a long time of silent disapproval and more or less subtle attempts at making him turn his life around, removed a weight from his shoulder that he had carried around all the time.

"I´m so proud of you," his grandmother told him. "And I think it´ll do you good, doing something you can be proud of, as well." Mike just nodded.

Later, when he left the retirement home and sat in the subway as it made its way through Brooklyn – house fronts passing by behind the windows, the lights of the city spreading on front of him like a glowing sea – Mike punched into his phone the number he remembered from Stark´s card.

"Hello Mikey," the billionaire singsonged into the phone.

"You don't get to call me that when I work for you," Mike replied before he could think about it.

"So, your grandmother gave you a stern talking to that you shouldn't waste your life selling drugs when you could instead do morally questionable things for me with better pay and benefits?" Stark spoke and Mike could already feel a headache settling in. He should get himself a weekly Aspirin subscription or something.

"I´m already regretting this," Mike muttered.

"Ah, ah, you can´t back out!" Stark proclaimed. "You´ve sold your soul to me and I don't intend to let it go."

"That´s slightly creepy," Mike commented.

"You´re still so naïve and innocent," Stark fake-sniffled. "Get your skinny ass to the office tomorrow so that Pepper can have you sign all those unnecessary HR forms."

"I´ll be there," Mike promised, but Stark had already ended the call.

* * *

When Mike came back to their apartment _(and it shot some kind of pang through his heart, think about the fact that soon it wouldn't be anymore. He had had many good times here)_ Trevor was bouncing through the apartment with unadulterated joy.

"Mikey!" he exclaimed and hugged the blonde with so much strength that it forced all air out of his lungs. "Just the man I like to see!"

"Are you high?" Mike wanted to know.

"No, but I have some good news," Trevor replied. "I may have found a possibility for us to expand our little business."

"Yeah, about that," Mike started, a sense of foreboding creeping over him. "I have something to talk to you about, as well." He took a deep breath. "I´ve gotten a job."

"That´s great, man," Trevor congratulated him.

"In Malibu," Mike added and the smile fell off Trevor´s face.

"You told them to fuck off, didn't you?" he demanded to know. "You can´t really think about leaving, can you? We´re a team, Mike, we belong together. And we have a good thing going, don´t we?"

"Trevor, it was always only a temporary thing," Mike explained, "I just wanted to pay for Grammy´s care. I never planned to break into the drug distribution business. And this job…it may be the last chance for me to turn my life around and I wanna take that chance."

"So, I´m not good enough for you anymore?" Trevor asked, hurt and anger flashing in his eyes.

"No, never." Mike shook his head. "You´re my best friend and it would mean much to me if you supported my decision."

"Well, I won´t," Trevor snapped. "You´re ditching me for some fancy job on the West Coast. What´s that job even about?"

"Personal assistant of someone who´s got a lot of connections and money," Mike replied, not saying for whom exactly he would be working because he didn't think that Trevor would believe him, not when he was in a mood like this.

"A glorified secretary?" Trevor scoffed. "That´s what you´re leaving me behind for?" And before Mike could get in any word edgewise, Trevor had already stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him with a loud bang.

Mike sighed. He really didn't want to start his new job with bad blood between him and Trevor, but he also didn't have time to wait for his friend to cool down in order to have a rational talk with him like two reasonable adults. Trevor had always been hot-headed, venting his emotions before common sense brought him down again, but somehow Mike had assumed that maybe this time it wouldn't be like this. He had hoped that Trevor would support him in his decision as Mike would have if their roles were reversed.

Maybe Trevor would come back. Maybe he would be the great friend Mike knew he could be.

* * *

Trevor wasn´t back when Mike left the apartment the next morning. Standing on the threshold, hand on the doorknob, Mike looked back on last time on the messy and derelict space that had been his home for the last few years; looked back on all the memories – good and bad – he had made here and a melancholic smile forced itself on his face. Somehow, Mike had this feeling that closing the door would also mean closing the door to this part of his life, ending it and making way for a new, hopefully better, part.

He didn't believe that he would ever come back here.

There were enough cannabis plants for Trevor to fulfil all of their outstanding orders, but then he would have to look for another way to make money. Mike hoped that his friend would find something that wasn't illegal, something that didn't pose a danger to him. Maybe Trevor would finally find the drive to create that ground-breaking software he was always talking about.

Mike closed the door. In the apartment silence sat in.

* * *

"There are some papers I need you to sign," Potts told him as she led him into her office. Sitting down, she put a pile of paper in front of Mike that nearly came up to the same height as the Bible in his grandmother´s room.

"Real paper?" Mike asked as he took the first piece of paper off the pile.

"The board´s afraid of Tony changing digital documents, so we have to file everything in paper form as well," Potts explained. Mike hummed and continued.

"'Stark Industries and associated partners are not liable for damage to toasters and other kitchen appliances during the employee´s tenure'," Mike read out aloud as he made his way through the papers.

"You don't want to know," Potts replied, rubbing her temples. "You really don't." Mike didn't prod further and after twenty minutes he had signed all of the necessary forms. He had expected that he would feel different after the deed – maybe some sort of new found purpose – but he felt exactly the same: the college drop-out, small-time drug dealer who had somehow conned his way into being Tony Stark´s personal assistant.

Spelt out like that, it did sound kind of unbelievable.

"You know, I´ve been hounding Tony to find a PA for months now," Potts mentioned offhandedly. "And he´s refused me on every turn. He must have seen something in you. I´d like to know what that was?"

"I don´t know," Mike admitted. "But Mr Stark must know how to read people; how to discern hidden agendas and false smiles. He wouldn't be where he´s now, otherwise. I can only hope that I can live up to whatever he´s seen in me. It´s nice to have that, you know? Someone seeing something special in you." There was a moment of silence and Mike wondered if he had passed whatever test Ms Potts had just put him through, but then just the smallest of smiles made it on the face of the formidable woman.

"You´ll do just fine."


	2. Of Expos and Car Races

**Malibu, California**

The ink on his contract wasn't even completely dry and already Mike´s life had taken a compete 180 turn. Before he could even comprehend what was going on he was already sitting in Stark´s private jet on its way to California.

"I haven't packed my things!" he had protested. "And I have to say goodbye to my grandmother!"

"We´re gonna be in New York again in the near future," Stark had replied. "Besides, I´m sure your grandmother got a telephone."

Entering Stark´s Malibu mansion was like entering a complete new world. The secluded complex, built on a cliff directly above the Pacific Ocean, exuded everything Mike had never known: wealth, design, sophistication and he couldn't quite believe that anyone could even afford such a home. But as he watched Stark strutting through the wide and open space, speaking at a pace that was difficult to follow, explaining stuff and recounting amusing anecdotes, then Mike could see how fitting the house was for Stark´s character.

"I have to introduce you to Jarvis," Stark muttered. "Say hello, buddy."

"It´s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mike," a voice spoke, male, British accent, yet there was no one present but Mike and Stark himself.

"Do you pay someone to sit behind a PA-system and talk to you?" Mike asked befuddled.

"No!" Stark exclaimed. "Mike meet Jarvis, or _Just A Rather Very Intelligent System_ , my personal AI and some may say conscience."

"I like to think that I have some influence on Sir´s decisions," Jarvis stated in dry tone.

"Wow," Mike breathed. "An AI? That´s awesome. I mean, it´s unbelievable…it´s astounding…it´s…." From Stark´s pleased expression on his face this was probably the reaction he had been going for.

"Jarvis is plugged into every system in this house," Stark explained. "So, if you need anything, just ask him. He knows if you´re allowed to or not. Ah, that reminds me: Jarvis, give Mike clearance for all floors but the workshop."

"It´s done, Sir," Jarvis replied.

"Are you self-aware?" Mike suddenly blurted out because he just needed to know.

"I like to think that I am," was Jarvis reply and that kind of gave away the answer to Mike´s question.

Tony continued to lead him through the mansion, showing him the various floor and the room they entailed, except for the workshop, which Mike was dying to see. He could understand, though, why he wasn't allowed to, at least not yet, because while Stark was rather friendly with him, the fact was that Mike had been an impulsive, spur of the moment decision made by the billionaire and Mike knew that he had to work for the other man´s trust before he was allowed to know anything beyond the public persona.

"And that´s your area," Stark spoke as he led Mike into another part of the mansion. "Pepper moved out after a few weeks because my sleep rhythm – or rather the lack of it – screwed with hers, so she found herself some cosy apartment in LA."

"Sir, the simulations you requested me to run have been finished," Jarvis interrupted them. Stark´s eyes lit up with excitement.

"Awesome!" he exclaimed. "I´ll leave you to it. Get acquainted with your surroundings or whatever. Your new, state of the art, Stark Phone´s on the drawer over there and Pepper will be here tomorrow and introduce you to your job. Toodles!" And then the whirlwind that was Tony Stark had already vanished.

Finally, Mike was able to just breath. The last few hours had been nothing but new things and hectic and as he looked through the window front down onto the Pacific, the sun slowly vanishing on the horizon, plunging everything in hues of yellow and orange, he just allowed his mind to go blank; to just stand there and enjoy nature´s spectacle. It definitely was different from New York, with its skyscrapers, the millions of people and the countless lights that shone all the time. The city that never sleeps. Mike had the feeling that Malibu definitely did sleep.

He wandered over to the drawer Stark had pointed at and took the phone that laid there into his hand. He pushed the button and the screen started to light up. Dialling a well-known number, Mike waked towards the bed on the other side of the room and let himself fall onto the soft mattress.

" _Hello?"_

"Hi, Grammy," Mike spoke.

" _Mike, where are you? It´s the middle of the night,"_ his grandmother spoke. Mike winced; he had completely forgotten the time difference between New York and Los Angeles.

"Yeah, I´m in Malibu…kinda?"

" _You´re in California?"_ Grammy asked unimpressed. _"Well, Mr Stark certainly moves fast."_ She chuckled.

"I wanted to tell you in person, but he had me in his private jet before I could even protest," Mike told her.

" _You already told me everything yesterday, so it isn't as if this comes completely out of the blue,"_ his grandmother commented. _"I´m just so happy that your life is moving forward again. I´m so proud of you."_ Mike wanted to say something, but there was a lump in his throat that prevented him from speaking. He didn't know the last time his grandmother had told him that she was proud of him _(that was a cheap excuse, he had an eidetic memory after all; it had been the day he got his acceptance into college. She had glowed with pride and told him that his parents would have been so proud as well)_.

" _I expect to hear from you every now and then."_

"You will," Mike promised.

" _Now, I have to go back to bed because tomorrow´s bingo competition and I don't plan to lose against Louise again,"_ Grammy spoke. _"Take care, Mike."_

"You, too," he murmured and then he ended the call. For a short moment, his fingers hovered over the phone, Mike hesitating, but then he punched in the second number, took a deep breath and put the phone to his hear.

Trevor didn't pick up.

* * *

The next day Pepper Potts was already waiting for Mike when he descended the stairs at six in the morning. Years of working as bike messenger had conditioned Mike to stand up at the crack of dawn because most of his deliveries had to be made before regular people began to work.

"Good, you´re a morning person," Potts commented. "That makes it a whole lot easier." She beckoned for him to follow her and led him into an adjacent room, which by the look of it was her office. "Take a seat." Mike did.

"This," Potts began and handed him a tablet. "is your new Bible. There are instructions for everything you need to know on this. Tony said you have an eidetic memory, so read it and memorise all of it." Mike took the tablet from her outstretched hand and began to scroll through it.

"'Taking out the trash'?" he read out aloud.

"There are certain procedures when you have to throw out Tony´s nightly conquests," Potts replied. "Depending on their social standing, their political clout and whether or not Tony wants to remain in good standing with them." Mike just nodded and closed said instruction; there were even videos attached to it.

"Let me make this clear, because I´m pretty sure that Tony didn't mention it," Potts continued. "It´s not your duty to help Tony with his work – or even worse, do his work for him – but to make sure that he stays healthy, doesn't do anything illegal and takes care of his duty as majority shareholder of Stark Industries. For example, bringing him coffee: completely acceptable; bringing him some sort of chemical complex which enables him to invent some new, highly explosive compound which lands us on the terrorist watch list, again, is completely unacceptable. Am I clear?"

"Yes, mam," Mike replied. "Nurturing not enabling." Potts smiled at him.

"The first weeks will be the worst," she said to him. "Once you show that you aren't a pushover, there´ll be some weird sort of respect, but until then expect your patience and sanity to be tested in ways you´ve never experienced before."

Well, that didn't sound too promising, Mike thought and some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Potts added: "If it´s any consolidation, your two weeks bonus is a car of your choice."

"I can´t drive," Mike pointed out.

"Well, then you have even more reason to stay for the four weeks bonus."

* * *

Potts was right; the first weeks were indeed pure hell.

Whatever charm Stark may have possessed when he had sweet-talked Mike into working for him soon vanished when the genius tried to evade Mike who was hounding him in order to make appointments, force him to go to board meetings or actually just sign a few pieces of paper so that Potts could continue her job of leading Stark Industries. Mike soon knew every crook of the mansion, having to go through it every time he went to look for Stark; soon learned which questions would make Jarvis give up his creator´s location and which wouldn't and which moods he had to catch his employer in to get the best results.

It was an exhausting process, but then Mike would phone with his grandmother or have a look at his account balance and it would give him the strength to get up the next morning and have the whole insanity begin anew. Mike always tried to be polite; to not push Stark into something, because he didn't know where the red lines he couldn't cross laid, didn't know against which boundaries he was allowed to push and which better to leave.

That all changed when Stark stood him up on a meeting with an important contractor.

"You stood me up!" Mike shouted at Stark when he came back to the mansion. "I had to come up with hundreds of explanations and excused and thank God I actually read the documents Ms Potts attached to the appointment, because due to them I actually knew what this meeting was about and could negotiate the contract by myself."

"It´s your job," Stark commented offhandedly.

"No!" Mike snapped. "My job is to make sure that you do your job, which – surprise, surprise! – actually entails negotiating with your business partners instead of having my unqualified ass do it. Now, please, just sign this so that I can get it back to Ms Potts."

"Maybe later, Dum-E and I have a really neat fire extinguisher contest going on and he´s currently winning and…"

"Just sign the _fucking_ contract!" Mike screamed. Then he shut his mouth, his eyes wide, and realised with dawning horror that he just cussed at his boss and if that didn't get his ass fired then he didn't know what would. Contrary to Mike´s expectations, though, Stark just grinned at him.

"So, the puppy does have bite," he joked. "Next time just start with the screaming, it certainly gets my attention faster." And with that he took Mike´s pen and put his signature on the contract.

* * *

It became easier after that. Now that particular employer/employee boundary had been breached, Mike was more confident in manoeuvring Stark into doing what he should be doing and sometimes he even got Jarvis to help him. When Ms Potts came to the mansion – which she did nearly every day, Mike didn't know if it was because she was looking after Stark or after Mike – she would often find Mike pounding at the workshop´s door, screaming profanities at Stark who had taken refuge behind and refused to come out to go to some meeting or benefit gala.

"Just give it to me," Potts said and Mike would hand over whatever he wanted to give Stark. "You´re doing better than I had expected." And that was all she ever said to him on the matter, but Mike had the feeling that she could accept him now and he considered that an accomplishment.

The last remnant of any professional distance between them was utterly annihilated the day when Mike walked in on Stark having sex with not only one but two persons. Utterly mortified, Mike closed the door as fast as he could and made his way back towards the living room.

"You could have warned me, Jarvis!" he accused the AI.

"Sir has given me no orders to prevent you from entering the bedroom," Jarvis replied. "He may have been too distracted to initiate the 'Sleepover' protocol."

"You don't think?" Mike spoke towards the ceiling and maybe he was just imagining it, but he could just feel the smugness radiating from all around him.

Later, when Stark came into the room, wearing only low-hanging joggers, Mike sprung up and started stammering some apology, which Stark interrupted him halfway through.

"Kid, how often do you think Pepper walked in on me having fun?" he asked, a rhetorical question of course. "You aren´t a real Stark PA if you haven't lived through that.

And really?" he continued. "'Mr. Stark'? After witnessing me in all my naked glory, you´re allowed to call me Tony." And with that, he pulled some orange juice out of the refrigerator and vanished downstairs into the workshop, leaving behind Mike who for the first time had to execute 'Taking out the trash'. Steeling himself, Mike walked into Stark- Tony´s living room where his conquests still lounged in the bed.

"I´m so sorry, but Mr Stark has been called to an urgent board meeting," he told the man and woman with his best business expression. "He asked me to convey his sincerest apologies. Your clothing has been dry-cleaned and a driving service has been called to drop you off wherever you want."

"Aw, and I had hoped for another round," the woman moaned, hopping off the bed and snatching her clothes from Mike´s hand.

"Your boss is a real freak in the sheets," the man commented.

"I don't comment on Mr Starks private affairs," Mike replied politely.

"Boring!" the woman exclaimed and giggled.

A few minutes later, Mike had finally gotten the two into the waiting taxi and let out a breath of relief when the car turned around the corner. It was in this moment that his mobile began to vibrate in his pocket.

 **[Pepper]:** Heard you executed your first waste disposal.

 **[Mike]:** How do you know?

 **[Pepper]:** Jarvis told me when I asked for you.

 **[Pepper]:** There´s something big coming and I need to brief you. Meet me here today at 1pm (attached location).

 **[Mike]:** Will be there.

"Mike!" Stark screamed. Mike rolled his eyes, put his phone back into his pocket and made his way towards the cranky billionaire.

* * *

The place Ms Potts wanted to meet him at was a quaint little restaurant in Santa Monica, hidden in a side street that wasn't frequented very much, causing an agreeable atmosphere as the place wasn't too full and too loud. Potts was already sitting at a table near the window front, her eyes hidden behind the newest Ray Beans as she watched the people passing by outside. When Mike entered the restaurant, she put her sunglasses into her bag and waved him over.

"Mike, so glad that you made it," she greeted him.

"It´s no problem, Ms Potts," Mike dismissed as he sat down opposite of her.

"Please, Mike, you took your first trash out today, so it´s only fair that you call me Pepper," Potts – Pepper told him.

"You´re all making a really big deal of me getting rid of Tony´s latest conquests," Mike remarked. "It´s a pretty weird rite of initiation." Pepper just shrugged.

"It´s a milestone," she pointed out. "The people before you didn't last that long." A waiter came over and took their orders _("They make delicious sandwiches.")_.

"You said there was something big coming?" Mike asked.

"Yes, I did," Pepper replied, her gaze not on Mike but looking through the windows. "Have you ever heard of the 'Stark Expo'?"

"I watched a documentary about it once," Mike told her. "It was a big thing, back in 1943. Howard Stark initiated it to replace the cancelled World Fair and to boost morale in the US while the World War Two raged on in Europe and the Pacific. He introduced the prototype of a flying car back then, but it failed miserably and till today the world is waiting for a working car."

"Tony wants to reintroduce the concept and host a new Stark Expo in six months," Pepper told him. "And he wants it to run for a whole year." Mike winced in sympathy.

"That´s a horrible idea," he groaned. "Fairs are terrible money sinks. Location, food and drinks, program, security – you have to organise every fucking detail and having it going for a whole year? That´s gonna cost Stark Industries a fortune."

"You don't need to tell me that," Pepper responded drily.

"How´s he even gonna fill the program for a whole year?" Mike wanted to know still struck by the sheer logistic such a feat would require.

"Well, he won´t," Pepper pointed out. "I will." The waiter came and served the sandwiches they had ordered. "And you´re going to help me. You need to keep Tony in line while I try to make this as much of a success as possible." Mike nodded. He didn't really envy Pepper for that tremendous task ahead of her. They both lapsed into silence as they ate their food; both of them following their own train of thoughts.

"Is there a reason?" Mike asked after a while. "You know, why now?" For a short moment Pepper looked like she was about to say something, but then she just shook her head.

"No, I don't know."

 **New York, New York, 6 Months Later**

" _I missed you too. Blow something up? I already did that. I'm not saying that the world is enjoying its longest period of uninterrupted peace in years because of me. I'm not saying that from the ashes of captivity, never has a greater phoenix metaphor been personified in human history. I'm not saying that Uncle Sam can kick back on a lawn chair, sipping on an iced tea because I haven't come across anyone who's man enough to go toe-to-toe with me on my best day."_

Mike groaned and hid his head in his head as he heard Tony boasting on stage. Next to him Pepper shot him a commiserating look and patted him on the back.

"It´s not that bad," she tried to convince him.

"That´s a lie and you know it," Mike replied as the cheerleaders walked past them through the backstage area. Both Mike and Pepper had tried to talk Tony out of having scantily clad women perform in front of a multi-million audience but according to Tony there was nothing more American that 'underage girls dancing in underwear'. "Christine Everhart´s gonna have a field day with this. 'Privatised Peace: How the World is held Hostage by Narcist Billionaire Tony Stark'."

" _Please, it's not about me. It's not about you. It's not even about us. It's about legacy. It's about what we choose to leave behind for future generations. And that's why for the next year and for the first time since 1974, the best and brightest men and women of nations and corporations the world over will pool their resources, share their collective vision, to leave behind a brighter future. It's not about us. Therefore, what I'm saying, if I'm saying anything, is welcome back to the Stark Expo."_

"This is such a bad idea," Pepper muttered under her breath. Mike didn't disagree with her. While the Stark Expo raised the profile of Stark Industries and had made their stock rise to astronomical heights, it was also a drain on their resources and with Tony´s idea of having it going for a whole year it would set back other investments. "I can´t believe we went through with this."

"Well, Tony´s kind of persuasive when he sets his mind on something," Mike pointed out. On the screen, he could see the video of Howard Stark being played. From what Mike had observed (he never asked, because even though Tony liked to hear himself speak, he didn't _tell_ much) Tony hadn't liked his father very much. Never a single mention, except for marketing purposes, and if someone brought the founder of Stark Industries up, Tony´s whole posture would stiffen up for a split-second before he forced himself to relax again.

"And that´s the problem," Pepper sighed. "It´s easy to get Tony excited about something, but trying to keep him committed is a fool´s errand." She ran her hand through her hair. "Tomorrow he´ll already have forgotten about all the Expo and who´s gotta keep it running then? Me, of course." She huffed in indignation.

"He seemed pretty invested to me," Mike commented. "He did much of the preparations. I think it really is something that´s close to his heart."

"I know, I know," Pepper admitted. "It´s just…I still see him as the old Tony, you know? The one who was irresponsible and reckless and whom I couldn't hold down long enough to get a simple signature. Maybe you´re right and this will be different. I sure as hell hope so."

"… _enjoying the sweet life. The Stark Expo. Welcome."_

"I´ll better be going now," Mike spoke as he collected his things and stood up, "before Tony escapes me again. There still some appointments to plan and –" he looked down on his Stark Phone "– Christine just sent me her interview request." Pepper nodded at him and then Mike was already running, knowing that Tony would try to slip past him.

He found the billionaire backstage with Happy where he was beset by enthusiastic fans.

"Hey, nice to see you. All right. Thank you. I remember you," Tony spoke, flashing his best paparazzi smile at the screaming people.

"Tony, Tony!" they shouted and Mike was pretty sure that one woman had her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

"Hey, hey," Tony tried to calm the crowd down. One woman snugged up to him and nestled to him murmuring something in his ear, which Mike was sure definitely wasn't PG rated.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey. Come on, come on," Happy shouted as he forced the crowd to part so that Tony could get through.

"See you buddy." Tony tried to ruffle the hair of a small boy but said small boy was wearing an Iron Man helmet making hair unreachable, turning the gesture into some awkward patting. Finally, the two reached Mike, who was waiting for them in front of the door that was leading to the garage.

"Mikey!" Tony exclaimed and slung his arm around him. "Did you watch my awesome speech?"

"I did," Mike told him, "but don't try to distract me: You tried to ditch me…again."

"You´re always nagging me about something," Tony complained as they made their way down the stairs. "Like Pepper." Mike gave him an unimpressed stare.

"That´s because it´s literally our job," he replied deadpan. "Pepper gave me a PDF-manual about how to nag you when I started working for you." They had reached their floor and walked through the open space towards one of Tony´s ostentatious cars. Mike didn't know if he hated the cars or Tony´s driving style, but he never liked travelling in them. He was more a fan of Tony´s private jet; much more space and better cuisine.

"Look what we got here, the new model," Happy gushed as he pointed at the car. There was an unknown woman leaning against it with crossed arms, observing them with detached disinterest.

"Hey, does she come with the car?" Tony asked obnoxiously.

"I certainly hope so," Happy replied goofily.

"And you are?" Tony asked the woman

"Marshal," the woman replied curtly.

"Irish. I like it," Tony commented.

"Pleased to meet you Tony."

"I'm on the wheel. Do you mind? Where you from?" Tony asked.

"Bedford."

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Marshall replied.

"Yeah? You found me. What are you up to later?" Tony winked and Mike had to suppress the urge to groan out loud.

"Serving subpoenas," Marshall replied and pulled an envelope from under her blazer, handing it over for Tony to take which he didn't.

"Yikes," Tony commented disgusted. Mike reached over and took the letter out of the woman´s hand. "He doesn't like to be handed things," he explained.

"Yeah, I have a peeve," Tony added.

"I got it," Marshal said without any understanding in her voice. "You are hereby ordered to appear before the Senate Armed Services Committee tomorrow morning at 9 am."

"Can I see a badge?" Tony asked out of the blue.

"You wanna see the badge?" Marshal asked, obviously confused by the sudden turn of their talk. Mike could kind of understand her; it was one of many of Tony´s talents to completely confuse the shit out of you with just a few sentences.

"He likes the badge," Happy threw in.

Visibly annoyed Marshal showed him her badge. "You still like it?"

"Yep." Tony nodded. With one last huff, the woman turned around and stalked towards the exit of the garage.

"Well, that was fun," Tony commented when the Marshal was out of ear-shot. "We should never do that again." He turned towards Happy. "How far are we from D.C.?"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Mike interrupted. "You can´t just drive off to D.C.!"

"But, Mike, you´ve heard the woman, I´m ordered to appear in front of a Senate Committee!" Tony spoke with an expression of mock-innocence that Mike wouldn't even have bought if he hadn't known the man at all. "I can´t deny the will of the people, can I?"

"You mean the will of the military-industrial complex?" Mike muttered and Tony just flashed him a bright smile. "My inbox´s exploding, Pepper gave me several contracts for you to sign and Christine Everhart wants an interview."

"Delete the mails, put the contracts on my table and confirm with Christine," Tony replied flippantly. With a roar, the engine sprung to life and then Tony was already driving away.

"Tony!" Mike screamed, but the man and the car were already gone, leaving Mike standing alone under the fluorescent lights of the parking deck.

 **Malibu, California**

" _I would describe it by defining it as what it is, Senator."_

" _As?"_

" _It's a high-tech prosthesis. That is…That is…That's actually the most apt description I can make of it."_

Mike chuckled as he watched Tony´s verbal spar with Senator Stern live on CNN. Those posh pencil-pushers didn't really realize what they had done when they had ordered Tony to appear in front of them. To the many observers (and Mike honestly believed that this was the Senate hearing with the highest viewership, because – come on – it was Tony Stark) it may appear as if Tony didn't take the whole procedure seriously. Which, to be honest, was true, but it was not the whole true. Tony was very well aware of how dangerous the government could become if it chose to do so, but right now this was only Stern´s single man show and secondly, they were trying to take Tony´s Iron Man suit from him and Mike knew that Tony would rather die than give up the crowning achievement of his life.

" _My priority is to get the Iron Man weapon turned over to the people of the United States of America."_ Right at this moment Mike´s phone began vibrating. He pulled it out of his pocket and saw that Tony had written him.

 **[Tony]:** Are you watching me?

 **[Pepper]:** Did you really just create a chat called 'Sparkling Stern'?

 **[Pepper]:** You know that I hate group chats. You only ever sent pictures of that stupid frog.

 **[Tony]:** Pepe is a classic!

 **[Mike]:** I´m watching. Already got all the precedents you need to fight this. They have no right to the property of an American citizen.

 **[Mike]:** I like Pepe.

 **[Tony]:** See?! That´s why Mike´s my favourite.

 **[Pepper Potts has left the chat.]**

 **[Tony]:** Bummer!

 **[Mike]:** You better concentrate on that hearing.

 **[Mike]:** Wait!

 **[Mike]:** What is Hammer doing there?!

" _Let the record reflect that I observed Mr Hammer entering the chamber, and I am wondering if and when any actual expert will also be in attendance."_ Mike grinned and leaned back. Time to enjoy the show.

* * *

"And, what did you think of my first Senate Hearing?" Tony shouted through the room after he had slammed the door shut behind him. "Did I bomb it or did I bomb it?" Mike, sitting on the couch with various pieces of paper strewn around him, looked up and gave Tony a thumb up.

"You were fabulous," he remarked, which made Tony pull a face.

"I wasn't fabulous," he complained. "I was awesome. Tell him, Jarvis!"

"You were indeed able to outmanoeuvre all of Senator Stern´s verbal traps," the AI spoke. "And may I say how refreshing it is to finally see you in a video with your clothing on, sir." Mike snorted at that. Tony narrowed his eyes at him. "I see that my awesomeness isn't valued here, so I´ll go down to the workshop. Dumm-E at least will appreciate my wit." And with that the eccentric billionaire had already taken of. Mike shook his head and turned back towards the papers on the couch and the game of online chess he was playing against some teenager from Russia when only minutes after Tony had come, Pepper entered the house.

"Where is he?" she demanded to know and Mike just pointed towards the stairs that led down to Tony´s workshop. You never stood between Pepper and Tony when the former was on a crusade and Mike valued his continued life too much. He could hear Pepper´s heels clacking on the marble ground and then the noise suddenly abated when she entered the workshop and the door closed behind her.

"Jarvis, please play playlist number three."

"As you wish, Mike." The soundtrack from Lord of the Rings sounded through the room and Mike was so ready to do some actual work, but – alas! – the quiet only lasted for ten minutes before he could hear Pepper stomping up the stairs.

"The nerve!" she spat out as she let herself sink down into the couch next to Mike. Carelessly, she skidded her shoes off her feet and into the corner of the room, rubbing her heels.

"What´s he done this time?" Mike asked cautiously.

"He donated the whole Stark Industries' art collection to the American Boy Scouts," Pepper told him. "For tax pay write-offs." In this moment, she looked like she would like to do nothing more than strangle Tony to death with her immaculate hands and that was the reason why Mike equally respected and feared her. "I spent ten years collecting all the pieces and he throws them away in some flight of fancy!"

"Why would he even need tax write-offs?" Mike questioned. "I´m administering his accounts and the money he´d be saving isn't worth the hassle." When Pepper directed her angry glare at him, Mike instantly knew that he had concentrated on the wrong part of the statement.

"But yeah, that sucks," he amended at once. "He´s kind of thoughtless sometimes."

"He wants to make me CEO of Stark Industries," Pepper suddenly added. Mike looked at her in surprise.

"Wait, but aren't you, like, already CEO?" he asked.

"No, not really," Pepper answered. "Tony sends me to the board meetings in his stead all the time and I´m doing much of the administrative work, but we´ve never made it official. Some newspaper wrote it one day and no one ever bothered with checking if it was true. And now Tony wants to make it official."

"Well, congratulations then," Mike offered. "You deserve it."

"You really think that?" Pepper asked and for the first time since Mike had known the woman something akin to insecurity creeped into her voice.

"I only know you guys for only a few months," Mike began, "but that doesn't mean that I haven't seen how much effort you put into everything you do for Tony, how you have his back without ever demanding anything in return and how you stood by his side through years now, through the worst and the best. Making you CEO of Stark Industries isn't some kind of bribe or undeserving reward; it´s quite simply just the recognition of what´s already fact. You´re already de-facto CEO, it´s time that Tony also made you de-jure CEO.

And don´t worry," he added. "The board´s already afraid of you; just imagine how much more they´ll be once the ink is dry on your new contract." A wide smile appeared on Pepper´s face.

"Where have you been the last few years?" Pepper wanted to know.

"Dealing weed and riding my bike through Manhattan," Mike quipped.

"My life´s so much less stressful when someone else is dealing with Tony," Pepper remarked. She tried to put her hair back in place and stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off her blouse. "I´ll better be going, I need to prepare the paperwork." Mike nodded at her and then Tony´s former assistant was already walking away. With a soft click the entrance door closed behind her and Mike was alone again.

During the next two hours, he managed to bring his paperwork in order and beat the Russian teen if only by the skin of his teeth when Tony made his way upstairs.

"Are you really planning to donate the Stark Industry´s art collection to the American Boy Scouts?" Mike asked the billionaire.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" Tony shrugged.

"It matters to Pepper," Mike remarked. Tony didn't say anything after that.

* * *

Mike was a little surprised when someone knocked at his office´s door. Yes, he had an office now. It was a small but sophisticated furnished room on the ground floor, bordering the open entrance space with a desk made of steel and glass, a book shelf with books that he had never read and a window that gave away to the coast line.

The door opened and Pepper peeked into the room.

"Mike, Happy and I are going to town to celebrate me official being your new boss," she told him. "Do you want to come?"

"Sure," Mike agreed enthusiastically. "Tony won´t sign all this paperwork anyway, so why am I even doing it?" He pushed the papers aside and pulled his messenger back from under the desk. "Will he come as well?" Pepper´s expression became stony at the mention of Tony.

"No, he´s too busy with legal," she replied.

"Well, too bad for him," Mike exclaimed. "Let´s get this show started."

A few hours later they were in their third bar and more than a little bit tipsy. Happy was in the corner, somehow managing to entertain a group of four women who were giggling at what Tony´s driver was telling them while Mike and Pepper sat at the bar and were downing shots.

"He just wants to make me jealous," Pepper told Mike.

"Who?" he asked confused.

"Tony!" Pepper exclaimed. "You need to listen, Mike!"

"This the first time you mention him," Mike defended himself.

"Anyway, he´s using Natalia to make me jealous," Pepper continued. "She´s everything I am: Intelligent, competent, out-spoken…red-headed…."

"And what am I? Chopped liver?" Mike interjected incredulously.

"Nah, you´re you," Pepper replied and patted him on the cheeks. "You remember everything. Eeeeverything." The bartender gave both of them an amused look, but didn't say anything.

"Tony´s an ass," Mike agreed with her. "Should man up and just ask you out."

"Yeah, he´s an ass," Pepper repeated. "We should drink on that."

"We definitely should!" Mike nodded zealously.

"You´re not drunk enough," Pepper complained. "You can still say defi-defi-ly." By then the barkeeper had brought them new shots and they started to drink again.

* * *

When Mike woke up on the couch next day, he felt like he was dying. No, he didn't feel like it, he really was dying. His head hurt like it taken a direct hit by Tony´s repulsors, his tongue felt like something had died on it and all of his clothes were smelling like he had spent the night in a landfill. He wanted to move, but then the pain would shoot through him like a lightning strike, so he just laid there and prayed that he wouldn't need to throw up.

"Well, you three look like you had fun last night." Tony´s voice was too loud. Mike grabbed the nearest pillow and buried his face under it. "I´m disappointed that I wasn't invited."

"Shut up!" Pepper groaned from the other end of the couch. Mike peeked from behind his pillow and saw that she was still wearing her five-inch-heels and costume. Her hair was dishevelled, but the make-up was still on point and right now Mike wished that he would look as good as Pepper, because he was pretty sure that he looked thousand times worse.

Happy, who was lying on the ground, still hadn't woken up.

"I´ll never drink again in my life," Mike vowed as he tried to sit up and the world immediately began spinning around him.

"Sure, you totally are," Tony commented patronizingly.

"Pepper´s right," Mike told the billionaire. "You should shut up."

"Can´t," Tony continued mercilessly. "I´ve just decided that we´re all gonna make a spontaneous trip to Monaco to watch the Grand Prix there." He grinned at them evilly. "You better sober up, our flight leaves in seven hours."

Pepper and Mike groaned in unison.

 **Monaco, Monaco**

Mike had to admit that Monaco was indeed a nice to look at place, even if he had to squint behind his sunglasses because the sun was shining too bright. Sitting on the backseat, Pepper looked as composed as ever, having used the flight to rest and restore herself to her former glory, while Tony sitting next to her seemed to soak in the laisse faire atmosphere the whole place was exuding.

"I´ll ask again, why are we even here?" Pepper asked. "I have an Expo to run back in New York."

"See, Pepper, that´s your problem," Tony remarked. "You can´t relax. Just enjoy that I take all of you to the finest dining establishment this little city has to offer to watch the Grand Prix." Only the slight twitch of her right eyelid betrayed how Pepper felt about that.

"I don't even like cars," she muttered, but nothing could destroy Tony´s good mood, so when Happy finally let them off in front of the hotel that housed the restaurant, he practically jumped out of the car and gave the waiting people and paparazzi his usual show.

"I hate my life," Mike spoke. Happy and Pepper just nodded and then they followed Tony into the building.

"You know, it's Europe. Whatever happens the next 20 minutes, just go with it," Tony told them.

"Go with it? Go with what?" Pepper asked with panic in her voice. She probably imagined all the mayhem Tony could cause in twenty minutes.

"What's on the docket, Mike?" Tony asked.

"You have a 9:30 dinner," Mike recited from memory.

"Perfect. I'll be there at 11:00," Tony told him.

"Absolutely," Mike replied resigned. He had long given up on getting Tony to his many appointments in time. He would be satisfied if his boss even made it to them at all. Tony steered Pepper towards the bar and Mike followed in safe distance. When he saw Justin Hammer and Christine Everhart making their way towards Tony, he stopped and leaned against the bar. That was definitely something he didn't want to have any part in. Pepper was on her own.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Mike looked sideways to the bartender who had spoken to him. Black hair, green eyes, lean but impressive build and looking hot as fuck in his work uniform. As Tony would put it a 'sexual harassment suit waiting to happen'.

"All these rich people?" the barkeeper added.

"What makes you think I´m not one of them?" Mike asked curiously.

"Nah," the bartender shook his head. "You lack this inherent arrogance. When I look at you I see a down-to-earth guy." He paused. "Can you believe that I was already asked four times if our water was vegan?" Mike´s jaw dropped.

"I´m so sorry," he apologised. "I hope this isn't the origin moment of your alternate identity as a super villain hellbent on killing vegans."

"It´d be a reasonable excuse, wouldn't it?" the barkeeper replied.

"There´s never a good excuse for villainy, even if it´s vegans," Mike replied sagely.

"Damn, there go my evening plans," the man said. Eyeing Mike speculatively, he continued: "Now I have to make some new ones." Before Mike could reply – and he was definitely down for getting down on the hot bartender – they were interrupted.

"Mike! Mike!" Pepper´s shouts reached his ears and with an apologetic smile towards the bartender he was currently talking to, he made his way across the restaurant to the table where Pepper was sitting.

"Yes, Pepper?"

"What do you know about this?" Pepper asked and nodded towards the TV screen which showed Tony in a blue bodysuit, helmet under his arm, taking seat in one of the racing cars. Mike blanched seeing those pictures.

"This is the first that I have known of it," he replied.

"This, this cannot happen," Pepper groaned and she looked like she was ready to kill someone – preferable Tony.

"Absolutely. I understand. How can I help you?"

"Where's Happy?" Pepper wanted to know.

"He's waiting outside," Mike told her.

"Okay, get him," Pepper ordered. "I need Happy. And tell him to bring the suitcase."

"Right away." Clearing his way through the crowd that had gathered in front of the TV, Mike made his way outside where Happy was leaning against the Bentley, chatting up some twenty-something-years old girl that was replying to him in rapid French.

"She´s telling you that she´s a lesbian and in a committed relationship for six years already," Mike interrupted. Happy´s expression sank while the Monacan woman flashed him a smile before walking off.

"I thought she was into me," Happy told him dejectedly. "And since when do you speak French?"

"High School," Mike answered. "Listen, Pepper needs you inside. And she wants you to bring the suitcase." Happy nodded in understanding. He opened the front passenger´s door and took out a hideous red suitcase and then walked towards the restaurant.

"Excuse me?" Mike turned around to see the woman from before standing only a few meters away from him. "Are you Mike Ross."

"I am," Mike confirmed. "Why?" The woman just smiled dashingly at him. Then he felt something pierce his skin on his neck. Mike wanted to open his mouth, but suddenly his whole body was filled with some sort of heaviness and he sank to the ground.

The last thing he saw was the woman´s heels stalking towards him. Then darkness descended.

* * *

 **AN:** The third chapter still ins´t finished (still missing around 5k words) but I´ve been so busy with work and university that I just couldn´t finish it. I can´t give you an exact date, but I hope that I´ll have it published within the next three weeks.


	3. Of HYDRA and Lawyers

When Mike opened his eyes, it was to darkness.

At least it was dark in the beginning. But the more his eyes got accustomed to the lack of light around him the more he could actually make out. There was a small lightbulb hanging on the ceiling, its sickly yellow light barely reaching the edges of the space he was in. The walls around him were made of grey concrete, cracks penetrating it like hundreds of small spider webs. There was a small cot hanging from the wall and a bucket in the corner. The only way out of the room was an iron door with a closed hatch.

Mike still felt numb, could barely feel his arms and legs, so he just laid there and had a silent freak-out. He had been kidnapped! He, Mike Ross, college drop-out and former drug dealer had been kidnapped straight from the Grand Prix of Monaco. It certainly sounded like it came straight out of some James Bond movie. Whoever had kidnapped him, though, was probably after Tony. Mike was very well aware that he just wasn't important enough to be professionally kidnapped, but Tony Stark´s personal assistant certainly was. So, whoever had him probably wanted knowledge about Tony.

How far would they go, though? Scenes from the many movies Mike had watched flashed in front of his eyes, displaying screaming people, blood, severed fingers, crying people reading messages in front of a camera, _'we don't negotiate with terrorists'_. Mike´s breath hitched as he thought about all the horrible things his kidnappers could do to him and he could feel panic rise within. It was like being dropped into ice cold water, the coldness suddenly engulfing him and making it difficult to breath, to just open his mouth and let in the air. He was drowning and he couldn't swim; there was this pressure on his chest and he couldn't move…he needed to move, he needed to get away; needed to escape….

"Hey, hey, hey, relax." Mike could hear a voice through the thick haze that surrounded his mind. "You need to calm down. I know, the situation isn't ideal, but you need to get a grip on yourself. Listen to my voice, nothing but my voice. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out." Mike followed the stranger´s instructions and slowly but surely it felt like he could breathe again; the numbness in his legs and arms receding and his surroundings sharpening again.

Mike turned his head and looked at the person who had helped through the panic attack. Brown hair, once probably gelled back, but now dirty and dishevelled, brown eyes who looked at him with worry, defined features and quite a few laughing lines, though they didn't make the man look old, but sophisticated instead. When Mike saw what the man was wearing he couldn't help but chuckle.

"What´s so funny?" the man asked.

"We´re in some creepy dungeon and you´re wearing a three-piece suit," Mike replied. He couldn't help himself, but once he started laughing, he just couldn't stop anymore. He laughed and laughed, until his side hurt and his laughs turned into wheezing coughs. Maybe he had finally turned insane, or maybe this was the only way he could process everything without falling apart, because it definitely wasn't funny. No, not at all.

The man´s suit was torn, holey and had dirt and other, unidentifiable, substances on and the vest was completely unbuttoned, some of the buttons missing, but even buried under all the grime the man made for an impressive figure and Mike wondered how he looked when he wasn't held captive in subpar conditions. He hoped he would find out.

"Are you finished?" the man asked drily after Mike´s coughs had abated. "Or anything else around here you want to laugh about?"

"I think I´m fine," Mike replied. He sat up and let his legs dangle from the cot he was lying on.

"What´s your name?" Mike asked after a while. "I can´t call you 'the mysterious man' in my head all the time."

"Harvey Specter," the man replied. "And you are?"

"Mike Ross," Mike answered him. Harvey´s eyebrows rose.

"Tony Stark´s personal assistant?" he commented. "How intriguing."

"How do you know who I am?" Mike asked apprehensively. People usually didn't know who he was. Next to Tony everything else kind of faded into the background, the billionaire having the uncanny ability to make everyone and everything only paying attention to him and to be honest, Mike quite liked not being hounded by paparazzi like Pepper had been during her tenure as Tony´s PA.

"I´m name partner at Pearson Specter Litt," Harvey told Mike with obvious pride in his voice. "We handle Stark Industries' East Coast business, so we keep up with everything Mr Stark does in case it backfires on him, which, to be honest, it often does." Fears that Harvey was some kind of stalker or even worse in cahoots with his kidnappers laid to rest, Mike allowed himself to relax again.

"So, why did they take you?" he inquired. "Come to think of it, who are 'they'?"

"I don´t know who they are," Harvey shrugged. "They took me a few days ago. I know the identity of someone they´re after." Harvey didn't offer anything further and Mike didn't ask. Neither of them could be sure that the other wasn't some plant their kidnappers had placed to earn their trust.

"So, you´re a lawyer?" Mike asked Harvey, bringing the topic back on more comfortable grounds. Harvey´s eyes immediately lit up.

"I am. Best closer of the city," he boasted.

"I wanted to be a lawyer, too," Mike admitted. "But I never got the chance."

"Why that?" Harvey inquired.

"Got expelled from college and the Dean there made sure to blacklist me at Harvard," Mike replied.

"You wanted to go to Harvard?"

"Yeah," Mike nodded. "I´d have totally blown them out of the water."

"As someone who´s been to Harvard I find that hard to believe," Harvey replied.

"What if I told you I consume knowledge like no one you´ve ever met?" Mike boasted.

"I´d say you´re full of crap," Harvey shot back without missing a beat.

"Ask me something. Anything," Mike dared him.

"Civil liability associated with agency is based on several factors, including…" Harvey began.

"Including the deviation of the agent from his path, the reasonable interference of agency on behalf of the plaintiff and the nature of the damages themselves," Mike finished the sentence.

"How did you know that?" Harvey asked shocked.

"I learned it," Mike answered cheekily. "I was bored one day, so I read the BarBri Legal Handbook."

"Okay, hotshot," Harvey said. "I´m gonna show you what a Harvard attorney can do. Pick a topic."

"Stock option backdating."

"Although backdating options is legal, violations arose related to disclosures under RIC section 409A," Harvey recited.

"You forgot about Sarbanes-Oxley," Mike commented.

"The statute of limitations renders Sarbanes-Oxley mute post-2007," Harvey replied.

"Well, not if you can find actions to cover up the violation as established in the Sixth Circuit May 2008," Mike countered.

"I´m impressed," Harvey confessed. "I´ll admit that you may have made it through Harvard if you´d been there."

"I used to be pretty bitter that the chance was taken from me," Mike told the other man, "but I´m good where I´m now and I´d like to think that I can help more people by preventing Tony Stark from taking over the world than I could have helped as a lawyer." Harvey was about to reply something, but then the door was pushed open and two men entered the room. Both were wearing tactical masks and black body armour and had their hands on their guns which were aimed straight at Harvey and Mike.

"Stand up!" one of the men shouted. "Hands in the air and to the wall." Hastily, Mike and Harvey stood up and followed the man´s order. When he seemed satisfied, he nodded towards the open door which apparently was the sign for a third men to enter. If Mike had ever met the man on the open street, he probably wouldn't have paid any attention to him. He was one of those people who practically screamed blandness at you, small, wispy and wearing black glasses that made his eyes stand out like a bug. He wore a white doctor´s overall and in his right hand he held a clipboard.

The man let his gaze wander over the two of them, as if he had an important decision to make, and then he pointed at Mike. "Take him." The two armed men stepped forward, grabbed Mike´s arms and dragged him towards the door. For the first time Mike saw what was behind the iron door that kept him and Harvey imprisoned: A long hallway with iron doors on either side, pipes hanging from the ceiling and everything illuminated in the same sickly light as his prison cell.

One of the many doors was open and when the doctor and his entourage passed by, Mike was able to catch a short glimpse on what was behind: A single metal chair, straps hanging at its side to fixate whoever was placed on it. To solitary lamps stood behind the chair and above it all hovered some ring-like device with just enough of a gap to place a head within. The whole thing exuded vileness so deep that Mike was glad when they had passed the room.

Finally, they arrived in the last room at the end of the hallway; some kind of laboratory with all kinds of chemicals and instruments placed all over it. A man was standing in front of one of the desks, flanked by two heavily armed guards and wearing a white lab coat. There was a broad smile on his face, but it just looked creepy instead of welcoming.

"Ah, ah, welcome to my humble abode," the man started to speak. "I´m Dr Meyer and I´ll be your host for the foreseeable future." Mike didn't reply anything, too confused and shocked by what was going on.

"You have questions, don´t you, Mike?" Meyer continued. "I can call you Mike, can I? We´ll be seeing much of each other in the future, so we can do away with all those bothersome titles and such, don't you think?"

"What am I doing here?" Mike asked, finally having found his voice again.

"Well, you are in possession of something that the organisation I work for wants," Meyer answered. "A formula, you see, one that makes everything it comes in contact with stronger than you can imagine." A cold shudder ran down Mike´s spin. How did they know? He had never told anyone, had never used what was ingrained in his brain in public, hadn't even shown Tony or Pepper (who wouldn't betray him anyway) so how had some criminal organisation gotten hold of that information? Something must have shown on his face, for Meyer continued gleefully.

"Desperation and money makes men do things you wouldn't expect of them," he told Mike gleefully. "For example, betraying one´s best friend. Your friend – Trevor, I think was his name – was both: desperate and short of money. It seems after you left him his source of affluence dried up and left him high and dry. So, we approached him with a hefty sum and he was more than eager to tell us how you were an integral part in creating the 'Super Weed' you two were distributing."

"You´re lying," Mike protested weakly, but there was no conviction behind it. As much as Mike liked to believe that Trevor would never betray him, he could just imagine his best friend desperate for money because he just wasn't willing to cut back the level of spending he had grown accustomed to ever since they had started dealing. Maybe Trevor hadn't really thought of the consequences of his action, maybe he had, but Mike was pretty sure that enough zeros on the check had silenced any qualms Trevor might have had.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Meyer asked. "Now, I haven't brought you here to tell you about your friend´s betrayal. I want the formula."

"Well, I wanna be king of the world, but that won´t happen, so I guess we both have to be satisfied with what we have," Mike taunted. He knew that it probably wasn't the wisest course of action, but he needed every little bit of bravado he could muster so that he wouldn't falter like a house of cards.

"Besides, how can you even know that what I have is the formula you seek? I could have a faulty memory, for all you know."

"I think a session in the Chair will loosen your memory," Meyer told him with a sadistic smile on his face. As if they had been waiting for some invisible command, the guards grabbed Mike again and dragged him out of the room, back into the hallway, towards the mechanical contraption that loomed over them like an eldritch abomination.

As they strapped Mike into the chair, Meyer continued talking: "Usually, the Chair is used to bury memories, but it can also be used for the opposite." He ran his hand over the cold metal like he was caressing a lover´s skin. The creepiness of it all made Mike shudder in revulsion.

"Let´s take a look at what we can find in your mind, shall we?" He pushed a button and then there was only pain.

 _Mike stared at the blackboards that were covered with letters and numbers he couldn't understand. Mr Stark had said that they were important and that he had to remember them all, so he really, really tried because he didn't want to disappoint Mr Stark._

" _Do you have it all?" Mr Stark wanted to know. Mike closed his eyes and a perfect replica of the room with the formula on its blackboards rose in front of his inner eye. He nodded shyly._

" _Good," Mr Stark hummed and began to erase the content of the blackboards._

 _Suddenly, there was a loud bang. The blackboard shattered and Mike screamed. He ran, stumbled, fell to the ground and robbed forwards until he was safely hidden behind one of the many book shelves that were positioned over the whole room. Carefully gazing around it, Mike could see Mr Stark on the other side of the room, cowering behind his desk. Mike´s eyes widened when he saw the gun Mr gun was clutching in his hand._

" _Is that all Hydra manages to muster?" Mr Stark jeered, his face contorted into an ugly mask of rage. Then he sprung up and fired the gun several times, his hands steady and his aim true. Mike turned his head towards the door and screamed when he saw one of the waiters stand there, eyes blown up wide, an expression of shock on his face while his white shirt slowly turned red. The gun the man had grasped in one hand fell to the ground, the thud tearing through the silence of the room like gunshots themselves. The man fell on the ground and didn't move any longer. Blood seeped onto the wooden floor._

 _Mike´s hands were shaking. He felt like he was going to be sick, but his dad had told him to behave while they were here and throwing up on Mr Stark´s floor definitely wasn't well behaved._

" _Michael." Mike looked up to see Mr Stark staring back at him. There was no concern, no worry nor compassion in his gaze. "You can´t tell anyone what happened here."_

" _I can´t?" Mike asked scared. "But dad says lying is bad."_

" _Well, Michael, if you tell anyone those bad men will come back for you and your parents," Mr Stark told him. "You don´t want your parents to die because of you, do you?" Tears were threatening to spill from Mike´s eyes, but he nevertheless nodded. He didn't want his parents to die._

" _You´ll go back outside and have fun," Mr Stark commanded. "And you´ll never breathe a word of what happened here to anyone, because if you do…" He didn't finish his sentence, instead pointing towards the dead man lying on the ground. "They´ll come."_

With a loud gasp Mike was torn out of his memory. His head felt like someone had held his head under water and now he was allowed to breathe again; there was a sluggishness to his mind, a disconnection to reality and for a short moment Mike wasn't sure what was real and what was just memory.

"I think we can safely say that your memory isn't faulty," Meyer commented. "It´s unfortunate that we can only extract sound and no visuals, because then we could plug the formula directly out of your mind, but it as it is, so we still have need for you."

"Sir, maybe we should allow the subject to recuperate," the other scientist from before threw in. "He won´t be of much use right now." Meyer looked like he had swallowed something sour, but with a short nod the guards picked Mike up from the Chair and dragged him back to his cell.

"You´re alright?" Harvey asked when the door had closed behind Mike. "You weren't gone for that long, but they sure as hell know how to use their time efficiently."

"I´m fine," Mike pressed out. Harvey didn't really look like he believed Mike, but thankfully he didn't press further. Mike couldn't just talk right now, he had too much to process.

The formula he had had in his mind since he had been a little child was in truth the Supersoldier Formula that had created Captain America. And no other than Howard Stark had put it there. Hysteric laughter made it past Mike´s lips when he thought about the fact that he was now working for the son of the very man that was the cause of the clusterfuck he was now in. He must have supressed the memory, Mike concluded. His nightmares made a lot more sense now. What child would have been able to deal with someone being killed in front of their eyes and then being told that their parents would be next if they didn't keep their mouth shut in a healthy way? Quite on the contrary, Mike considered himself well adjusted.

 _Did Tony know?_ Mike wondered. Had their first meeting been as random as Mike had always believed or did Tony have a hidden motive? Had he just wanted to get his fingers on the valuable secret hidden inside Mike´s mind? As fast as that thought had sprung to his mind it vanished again. After over half-a-year, Mike liked to think that he knew Tony well enough that he wasn't one to pull a long con to get something. If he had had any inkling of it, he would have just approached Mike and thrown money and other favours at him until he would have given him what he wanted (and Mike probably would have, he had needed the money). So, no, Tony hadn't known and everything up until now had been genuine.

"You´re alright now?" Harvey asked.

"Yeah," Mike replied. "Just had some life-changing revelations."

"Don´t we all?" Harvey chuckled. A comfortable silence settled over them.

"You said you work for Pearson Specter Litt," Mike picked up where Harvey left off before he had been dragged out of the room. "What´s it like?"

"Awesome," Harvey replied with a wide grin. "I´ve got a nice little corner office overlooking 5th Avenue and the best secretary there is."

"I doubt that," Mike disagreed. While Pepper may not have been a secretary for quite a while, he seriously doubted that anyone could be as efficient and awe-inducing as the CEO of Stark Industries.

"Well, it´s true," Harvey told him. "If she wanted she could take over the whole firm. She knows where every skeleton is buried and all of the partners are afraid of her."

"Does she have red hair?" Mike asked in some random bout of curiosity.

"She does," Harvey confirmed.

"So, why did you decide to go into law?" Mike wanted to know.

"Because of the thrill of it," Harvey answered. "I know that nothing men-made is perfect, but I think the law comes close. When I go up against another lawyer in court I know they´re there because of their abilities, not because of their status or money. Because your status doesn't matter if your opponent can out-argue you and neither does your money. I´ve seen man and women who came from nothing wiping the floor with men much more powerful than them, because that´s what the law allows them to do. And that´s why when I´m in front of the judge and jury, arguing and presenting my case, knowing that my opponent is as intelligent and ruthless as I am, I feel the most alive." As Harvey talked about it, Mike observed him and noticed how the man shed the stress, the pressure and grime that weighted down on him and seemed to glow from within with passion and desire. His eyes shone with something hungry, making a shudder run down Mike´s spine, his hands gestured animatedly, the lines around his eyes seemed to lessen. Seeing him like this, Mike could just imagine what a powerful force Harvey must be in a court room.

He fell asleep to Harvey talking about the law, his soothing voice rushing over him like a waterfall.

* * *

Mike woke abruptly when the door was blown open and two guards entered. Before he could even blink, they had already thrown him from the raft and were dragging him back to the laboratory.

"Welcome back, Mike," Meyer greeted him. "Ready to cooperate with us?"

"Go to hell!" Mike spit in his face.

"That´s unfortunate," Meyer sighed. "Maybe we´ll be able to persuade you?" Then they started with the electroshocks.

* * *

When the guards threw Mike back into his and Harvey´s cell he didn't even possess the strength to pick himself up from the ground. Every inch of him hurt like a herd of elephants had trampled over them and even the smallest of movements sent jolts of pain throughout his whole body, so he just laid there and prayed for the pain to go away.

"Mike!" Harvey exclaimed. He stood up from his raft he was laying on and kneeled next to Mike. There wasn't much he could do, as he neither possessed medical equipment nor the knowledge of how to use it, but Mike appreciated the gesture anyway. When Harvey touched his shoulder, he couldn't hold back the wince, making Harvey retreat his hand with a guilty expression on his face.

"What did they do to you?" he wanted to know, concern shimmering behind his hazel eyes.

"Electroshocks," Mike rasped.

"I´m sorry," Harvey whispered. "They never did that to me. The guards only ever roughed me up and I know how to withstand that. They must want your knowledge much more than mine."

"There´s nothing to apologise for," Mike assured Harvey.

"I need to pick you up and put you onto the bed," Harvey told him. "I don't think it´s healthy to lie on the hard and cold ground after being tortured."

"Are you my nurse now, Harvey?" Mike joked, but he was too exhausted to laugh. "You´re much more attractive than the nurses at the last hospital I´ve been in."

"Tell me all about it," Harvey replied drily.

"Well, one of Tony´s inventions kinda blew up and damaged the structural integrity of the ceiling. I fell right through it into Tony´s workshop. You should have seen his faaaaaa…" It was in that moment that Harvey picked him up and hoisted him upon the raft, making the pain flare up anew in his whole body.

"Sorry," Harvey apologised. "I figured if you were distracted the pain wouldn't be that bad." Mike snorted, but he had to admit that lying on the threadbare mattress was better than the cold ground.

"Tell me something," Mike asked of Harvey. "Something about your work at your firm."

"Well, it´s not really my firm," Harvey conceded. "You may have noticed that the 'Pearson' comes before my name. Jessica is the a scarily powerful and ruthless woman." From anyone else it would have sounded disparaging, but Harvey managed to make the words sound admiring. "She towers over everyone; and I don't mean just her physical height, there´s also her intellect and her cunning. I think in order to understand her, you must understand that she managed to push herself up the ranks as woman and as person of colour. I have no illusion that she must have had it thousand times worse than I did. But not only did she manage to become Managing Partner, no, she did all of that while also ousting all of the men that came before her. No one can even remember that the firm even existed before Jessica.

'Tear down the statue,' she called it. I learned everything I know from her. She was the one who picked me from the mailroom and sent me to Harvard. She made this whole life possible for me and for that I´m forever in her debt. And I know that´s exactly why she did it, but I can´t fault her for it. I know that she knows that I know and she still can count on me being in her corner all the time. That´s the woman Jessica Pearson is.

But she´s also the one who gave Rachel a chance and made her my associate. She´s also the one who fixes all of Louis' screw-ups and keeps Donna from going overboard. She´s the one to reel me back in when I go too far and she never expects gratefulness. Just loyalty."

"Sounds like a remarkable woman," Mike remarked, slowly feeling drowsiness overcoming him. "She sounds like someone who could stand up to Tony. I´ll always like people who can stand up to him…" He didn't hear Harvey´s reply because he was already drifting into sleep.

* * *

The next time Mike was thrown back into the cell after another electroshock session, Harvey wordlessly helped him onto his raft and started talking after Mike had laid down, the pain in his body ebbing back and forth.

"I have an associate," Harvey began, "Her name´s Rachel. Rachel Zane. She was a paralegal for years before she managed to make a deal with Jessica that allowed her to go to law school while she continued working for the firm. That takes guts and I can respect that. To be honest, I didn't really like her in the beginning. She was just so prim and proper and eager to please, but then she would talk back at the most inopportune moments. I loaded off as much work as I could on her, just so that she would be out of my way, but she always came back with the work perfectly done and not a single complaint. I wanted to wear her down and scare her off, but she didn't allow me. Every time she handed me back the papers I asked for I could see that determination in her eyes, this shimmer that just dared me to try and grind her down. So, I involved her more and she, in return, cut back on that 'holier than thou' attitude. Donna told me that she gives the clients the impression that we care – which I don't, by the way – but if Rachel manages to make the clients easier to work with, then she can care all over the place."

* * *

They turned to waterboarding after electroshocks didn't give them the desired results. If Mike thought the pain of hundreds of volts cursing through his body was bad than he couldn't even describe the terror that took hold of him every time his head was held under water. The desperate desire to breathe – to inhale – and then the water filling his lungs, never stopping, the struggle for air and the terrible burning in his lungs when he wasn't able to fill them with oxygen coalesced into an agony that kept him even awake when it was just him and Harvey.

The man was always there when Mike woke up from his nightmares – _drowning, lungs filled with water, grasping for air while nothing but water would rush into his mouth_ – and held him down while he trashed around and screamed. When Mike didn't know where he was, gaze unseeing and mind still filled with the agony of being tortured, he would speak and his voice would chase the terrors away – at least until they opened the door again.

Harvey told him of his life at Pearson Specter Litt: About Louis Litt, who always invested himself 100% even if it was too much, who was creepily obsessed with his cats and who took every associate under his wing, even though he was only able to show his caring through shouting and cutting comments. A man who above all just wanted to be liked by others but didn't know how to make them and who just for once wanted to be someone´s first choice. About Donna Paulsen, the woman who had had Harvey´s back ever since he stepped into the world of law and who put her own ambition behind Harvey´s and never demanded anything in return but for Harvey to listen to her. Who had no family but him, but wouldn't have him in her private life anyway. A woman who without whom Harvey wouldn't be the man he was today and for that he would always love her.

"It sounds like family," Mike commented.

"It is," Harvey replied after thinking about it for a while.

"So, we both found family somewhere else," Mike smiled, but then it vanished as fast as it had come.

"Harvey, if…if I don't make it out…"

"Don´t," Harvey interrupted him. "You will. You aren't allowed to die here."

"I don't think you can make the rules up like that," Mike said.

"I´m the best closer Manhattan has ever seen," Harvey replied with defiance. "And if I say you aren't allowed to die because I want to take you out on a date after we survived this, then you aren't allowed to."

Mike smiled at Harvey. "Alright."

The next time the water started to surge into Mike´s lungs, he thought about Harvey´s rule, about the date he, too, wanted to be taken on and maybe it was cowardly and unpatriotic, but Mike didn't want to die in some godforsaken bunker, his sacrifice forgotten by the rest of the world, his fate forever unknown to his family. Maybe a hero would have hold out until the end, but Mike was no hero: just an ex-drug dealer/personal assistant who was in way over his head.

Mike wanted to live. And wasn't that the most human thing in the world?

"Alright, alright," Mike rasped out the next time his head was above the water. "You win. I´ll create you the serum. Just…just stop."

* * *

Mike looked at the small vial, the lucent liquid within looking nothing like he had imagined a supersoldier serum would look like. It looked harmless, innocuous, and yet people had died and he had been tortured for it.

"I´m finished," he told Meyer, who grabbed the vial from his hand and look at it with unadulterated greed shining in his eyes.

"Finally," he crooned. "After all those years, Hydra will finally be in possession of the Supersoldier Serum. Our greatest ignominy finally erased."

"Should I alert the Director?" one of the armed guards asked.

"No!" Meyer shouted. "They´ll just claim it for themselves, leaving us in this hellhole of a base. No." He looked at the vial and back at Mike, a sick sort of glee forming on the doctor´s face. "We won´t deliver the Serum to the Director." One of the guards stepped forward, ready to object, but Meyers just continued speaking. "We deliver them a Supersoldier, perfectly trained and programmed. Imagine the praise and fame we´ll receive. Hydra will remember our names until the end of times."

"You´re insane," Mike blurted out. "Absolutely, fucking, insane."

"They say the same about Tony Stark, yet they´re also heralding him as the greatest genius of our time," Meyers shot back. Mike wanted to snap back that Tony was nothing like the doctors, that the latter was just a cheap imitate of the former, a burnt-out husk caught in his own delusions of grandeur, but he kept his mouth shut. It burned on his tongue, though, those words that he knew would sent Meyers into frothing rage.

"Take him," Meyers ordered. Suddenly there were two guards at his side, taking his arms and forcing him to the ground.

"Congratulations, Mike," Meyers told him as he filled a syringe with the serum Mike had just produced. "You´re going to be my crowning achievement. The perfect soldier."

"You´re delusional," Mike wheezed, trying to wrestle out of the guards' grip, but they wouldn't give in, not even an inch. Mike increased his effort a thousand-fold when Meyers stalked towards him, syringe held high and a maniac glint in his eyes, but then one of the guard hit the back of Mike´s head with the butt of his gun. Stunned, Mike could offer no resistance when Meyer rammed the syringe in the back of his neck and emptied its content in his bloodstream.

Considering that the stuff was called Supersoldier Serum for a reason, Mike would have thought that there would be some kind of reaction. Some kind of fire that would burn itself through his body, unimaginable pain maybe, but when Meyers took a few steps back, Mike could feel absolutely no chance at all.

Maybe, he hoped, the serum was defective. That hope was lost, though, when Meyers began to smile.

"You´re still alive," he remarked in wonder. "All of our other subjects were writhing on the ground in unimaginable pain by now. Seems your formula actually works." He threw the empty syringe on one of the tables and turned back to Mike. "Now, to the last step: The gamma rays. If you survive them, you´ll be a real Supersoldier."

Still dazed by the hit on his head, Mike could do nothing as the guards dragged him towards a contraption that bore an uncanny resemblance to a coffin, only that it wasn't made of wood but of steel and all kind of tubes and pipes were protruding from it. Another guard opened the lid of the machine and then Mike was already forced into it.

"Let me out!" he screamed, hammering his hands against the cold metal surface but it just wouldn't budge. There was only a small opening through which he could see into the laboratory, but that didn't lessen the claustrophobia he was experiencing. He couldn't move, couldn't turn around, the confines of the coffin preventing him from even turning his head. His breathing was short and shallow, his pupils blown wide and panic was the only emotion he was able to feel.

"Rejoice, Mike," Meyers preached. "You´re the future of mankind." Then he moved the lever.

For a split-second nothing happened. Then the pain came. Mike had thought that the torture had been bad – the water-boarding and the electroshocks – but it was nothing to the sheer agony that was cursing through his veins at this moment. It felt like his whole body had been set on fire, lava cursing through his blood stream and burning him from within. Every nerve of his was on fire, tearing and sundering, and his brain felt like it was boiled in his skull. Mike wanted to scream, but he couldn't, because he couldn't control his muscles anymore, couldn't force his mouth to open and his vocal chords to vocalize the unimaginable agony he was forced through.

He just wanted to die. At least then the pain would stop and he would see his parents again. As wave after wave of agony shot through him, Mike prayed that his heart would give out, that his lungs would combust or that his brain would just give up and release him into sweet oblivion.

The last thing Mike saw before the pain overtook him and everything went black was the walls of the laboratory suddenly exploding and a red shape bursting through the rubble.

Then nothing.

* * *

Mike was floating.

There was whiteness all around him. No matter where he looked, the vast stretches of nothingness didn't end, reached until the horizon and beyond. He had no sense of direction, no orientation; there was just this sweet numbness spread throughout his whole body. It was serene, peaceful _(painless)_ and Mike just allowed himself to swim through the whiteness.

" _Mike."_

Someone was calling him. The sound tore through the whiteness like a gun shot, disturbing the peace and quiet.

" _Mike."_

Mike didn't want to follow the voice. He didn't want to go back where he would be hurt and tortured, didn't want to wake up to the world where the pain was.

" _Mike."_

The voice grew louder and more insistent. At its edges, the whiteness suddenly turned black, the darkness coming nearer and nearer.

" _Mike."_

The blackness reached him.

" _Mike."_

With a loud gasp Mike sat up and opened his eyes. He was assaulted by the lights and sound around him, bombarding him with so many sensations that he couldn't escape. He tried to close his eyes again, tried to shield his ears from the sounds, but they wormed their way into his brain and wouldn't leave, burying themselves into his mind. There was a voice, but Mike couldn't hear it over the ringing in his mind.

He buried his head between his knees and just tried to get his breathing back under control. Slowly but surely the sounds receded and his eyes got accustomed to the brightness around him. Everything around him was blurry, as if he was underwater, so the only thing he could cling to was the voice that never stopped speaking.

"Easy there."

"Tony?" Mike croaked. The blurry shapes in front of his eyes took form again and now he could recognise his boss hovering over him. Compared to the last time, he looked worse for wear: His skin was pale, hair dishevelled, bags under his eyes and barely healed cuts all over him.

"Yeah, it´s me," Tony replied.

"I thought it was a dream," Mike mumbled. "You coming and saving me." Mike didn't notice it, but the expression on Tony´s face looked like he had been shot straight in the heart.

"Of course I came!" he insisted. "Nobody kidnaps my employees and gets away with it! Besides, Pepper was out of her mind with worry for you." There was a shaky smile on the billionaire´s face that told Mike that Pepper hadn't been the only one who had been worried.

"You did miss a lot, though," Tony continued. "There was some evil Russian genius who had it out for me and tried to kill me several times…and I also nearly died of Palladium poisoning…

…which has been totally taken care of by some shady government agency," Tony added when he noticed Mike´s eyes widen in panic. "I´m fine now." There was a short pause then: "Not as fine as you´re gonna be, though. How does it feel to be a supersoldier now?"

Dread washed over Mike as memories of all the things he had been gone through were suddenly pushed at the front of his mind: the torture, the pain, the all-consuming fear, the agony. His hands began to shake and there was this urge to scream but no sound would come out of his throat. He tried to get out of the bed, tried to run, but suddenly there was Tony holding him back. If Mike hadn't just woken up, he probably would have been able to overpower the man, but as he was now he couldn't put up much of a fight.

"Harvey," Mike managed to get out. "The formula…needs to be destroyed. Where´s Harvey? Promised we´d get out together…"

"Mike, listen to me." Tony´s voice barely registered in his panic-ridden state. "The guy who´s been with you is right in the room next to you. He´s fine. And I destroyed and wiped everything in the base. I made sure that no one can get his hands on the formula ever again. You´re safe. Harvey´s safe. And you´re both gonna be fine." It was difficult, but somehow Mike managed to subdue the panic that had taken a hold of him and forced it into the back of his mind where it now lingered, ready to take over again the moment he showed a sign of weakness.

"You´re with me again?" Tony asked. Mike nodded.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don´t apologise," Tony told him. "You should have seen me after Afghanistan. I was a total wreck, couldn't sleep, couldn't go for a whole hour without having flashbacks and panic attacks. You´re allowed not to be fine. You´re allowed to break apart."

"Did you?" Mike wanted to know. "Break apart? Did you allow yourself not to be fine?"

"No," Tony admitted bluntly. "I bottled everything up and insisted I was fine, only for all of it to blow up in my face when I least needed it. Don't make my mistakes, Mike." Mike couldn't bring himself to say something, so Tony continued.

"I destroyed all of the evidence. All the authorities involved think you´ve been kidnapped because of me." Guilt flashed over Tony´s face before it settled on his serious expression again. "I paid off the staff here so that they wouldn't keep a record of you. You don't have to wait for the other shoe to drop. It´s over now."

"So, I can go back to work like nothing has changed?" Mike asked, barely able to believe that it really was over now. Surprise flashed over Tony´s face.

"What?" Mike inquired. "Did you think I wouldn't want to come back?"

"You were kidnapped because of me," Tony mumbled.

"I was kidnapped because of something our fathers did," Mike corrected him. "And I don't hold you responsible for it. Besides, I couldn't leave Pepper just like that. She´d kill me." They both knew that there were things that neither of them dared to say – it was probably toxic masculinity or emotional stunting or just both of the men who weren't used to talk to others about their emotions – but when Tony looked up again, his gaze didn't seem so heavy and there was a straightness to his posture that hadn't been there before.

Mike was sure that they would be okay.

Tony continued talking for a while, recounting all the events Mike had missed during his captivity, including a disastrous birthday party and Mike was so glad that he hadn't been the one forced to clean up that particular mess (reminder: buy Pepper some chocolate, she definitely deserved it), but sadly the duties Tony had to Stark Industries and the public never really went away, so after an hour or so he had to leave to take care of something, promising to return as soon as possible.

"Mike," he said, already on the threshold of the room. "They had notes about your friend on file. I had JARVIS search for him: He´s been killed a few days ago. Probably them trying to tie up loose ends."

Mike called Grammy and for the first five minutes of their call, his grandmother did nothing but cry and thank God for his save return. Mike felt bad for putting Grammy through all of this, but being the fierce woman she was, Grammy would have none of it and made him promise to visit her as soon as possible; a promise Mike gladly gave.

He didn't dwell much on Trevor. In all this chaos, the thought of what his best friend had done had gone completely under, but after Tony had told him of Trevor´s fate, Mike had time to reflect on it and it hurt like a bitch. He never believed that Trevor had wanted him to suffer through what he did, but that didn't negate the fact that he had betrayed Mike. There were all those conflicting emotions in his mind and he couldn't sort through them: anger, hurt, betrayal, but also grief, loss and love – because Mike had loved Trevor who had been to him like a brother. Yet, the worst thing was that he would have never a chance to talk to Trevor again, to hear him defend himself, maybe apologise. They had killed him and whatever Trevor´s thoughts and motivations had been, Mike would never know.

So, he allowed himself to grieve for the friend that had been and not the man he had become.

Pepper and Happy were the next visitors he received. Both were overjoyed to see Mike again, the latter receiving a manly fist bump from Tony´s driver and an invitation to the nearest bar the moment he could leave the room (Pepper just rolled her eyes) while Pepper herself was all misty-eyed and threw herself at Mike and hugged the living daylight out of him. Tony himself stood back and enjoyed the show.

"I´m so glad that you´re back," she told him, "mostly because it´s been hell to juggle both Stark Industries and Tony himself." Tony yelled something in protest.

"You wound me," Mike replied in mock-hurt, clutching his chest as if he had been shot. "And here I thought we had some real soul mate connection going on." Pepper smiled while Tony continued to complain and Happy just shook his head fondly at his boss.

And while Mike watched them all, he realised something: Whoever had said 'home is where your heart is' had been right. Those people – Tony, who cared so much that it hurt sometimes watching him taking all the blame, shouldering all the responsibility; Pepper, who was as fierce and intelligent as she was beautiful; Happy, who, no matter the situation, was the calm in the storm, steadfast loyal all the way through – were his home, his family, now. They had come through for him, they took care of each other and for a lonely orphan boy who only ever had his grandmother and a best friend he couldn't rely on, this was an earth-shattering revelation.

"Why are you smiling?" Tony suddenly asked. "No one´s allowed to smile about something I don't know anything about."

"It´s nothing," Mike replied. "I just realised something."

He could leave his bed – and therefore his room – a day after he had woken up already (Mike tried not to think about what that meant) and the first thing he did was visiting Harvey. The lawyer was still bed-bound, every inch of exposed skin covered in bruises.

Guilt gnawed at Mike. He was responsible for this.

"You look like you´re thinking too much," Harvey commented.

"Something you´re definitely not all too familiar with," Mike shot back. Harvey just smiled at him.

"See? I told you we´d make it out of there alive," Harvey told him.

"You did," Mike replied, reciprocating Harvey´s smile. "You did." They fell into a comfortable silence, both basking in the presence of the other and enjoying the knowledge that they were safe now.

"What are you going to do now?" Mike asked.

"I´ll be going back to New York," Harvey replied. "I miss my condo and I´m sure Donna and Jessica miss me as well. Louis is gonna be so disappointed that I survived."

"Don´t be so mean to the man," Mike chided Harvey, but he couldn't help the small smile that creeped on his face. "He´s probably going to hug you." Harvey looked like he was going to be physically ill just at the thought of Louis Litt hugging him.

"You still remember what you promised me?" Harvey asked. "If we got out of there alive you´d go on a date with me."

"I definitely won´t break that promise," Mike confirmed. Harvey smiled and right in this moment – just both of them in nothing but hospital gowns, the faint beeping of the machines that surrounded Harvey´s bed, the sunlight streaming through the window and both of them still looking like shit – Mike felt like everything was as it was supposed to be.

* * *

"What did you find out, Agent Romanov?" the one-eyed man sitting behind the desk asked of the red-haired woman in front of him.

"Stark destroyed all of the physical evidence," the woman reported. "There was nothing we could salvage but molten scraps of metal."

"So, you´re saying we´ve got nothing?" the man asked surly. A faint smile crept on Agent Romanov´s face, the only outward sign of emotion.

"One of the scientists working at the base wasn't there when Stark attacked," she spoke. "He was buying supplies in the nearby town. We picked him up and he was more than eager to tell us all he knew."

"Which was?"

"They were after the Supersoldier Serum," Romanov replied.

"It´s been lost with Captain America," the man scoffed.

"Apparently it wasn't," Romanov corrected him. "The scientist told us that Stark´s personal assistant knows the whole formula. That´s why they kidnapped him in the first place; not because they wanted to threaten Stark himself."

There was silence.

"What shall we do now, Director Fury?" Romanov asked.

"Nothing," Fury replied. "We´ll wait and observe. And when the opportunity presents itself, we´ll snatch Stark´s PA up for ourselves. Dismissed."

* * *

 **AN:** In true Marvel fashion there are a lot of loose threads, but I figured that ending the story here would give the reader enough closure. When I started this I´d have never thought that I´d write nearly 30k words. I figured it´d be around 10k lol I hope you all liked reading it as much as I loved writing it ^^


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